


Rise of the Red King

by GarGoyl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Dark, Demons, F/M, Magic Revealed, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evil has triumphed in Camelot,while Arthur Pendragon and Merlin are lost and sentenced to Underworld for the rest of their days. While there's no hope left,an ancient prophecy has yet to unfold.Morgana/OC,Merlin/OC,Arthur/OC. Warnings:Dark/Angsty/Gore</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morgana's wishes

**1.** **MORGANA'S WISHES**

_**Warnings: A very dark** _ _**, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

A slight smile of satisfaction played on Morgana's lips as she walked out into the Witch King's gardens. She took a deep breath in the chill evening breeze, gazing upon the cloudless sky, golden in the last rays of sun. The strong, sweet scent of roses filled the air and she stopped for a moment to contemplate the sheer beauty of the surrounding nature, like a celebration of her victory. The victory of Queen Morgana. The great kingdom of Camelot was hers, to be cradled in the palm of her hand or to be crushed in her fist if so it pleased her. The newly conquered power gave her a beatitude that was undeniable, yet there were still many things to be taken care of, and in this respect she was rather anxious. One of these matters was her wretched father, Uther Pendragon. The thought of him always made her twitch in anger and disgust lately. Her right to the throne depended on her acceptance of his name, but deep inside she refused to think of herself as Morgana Pendragon. Often she wished that his accursed blood had not run through her veins, mingled with her mother's magic one, making her feel utterly tainted. The decision she had to make regarding in respect of his fate was a burden, but fortunately Morgause was by her side, loving and supporting, a pillar of strength.

The Witch King Ironed sat on a stone bench, slightly bent forward as he rested his palms on his knees. He watched her approaching in silence, with an air of benevolence about him. The old king had agreed to the alliance that was to benefit both of them mainly because of Morgause, who was like a daughter to him. He'd raised her and had brought her magic powers to their full potential. Without him, Morgana would have never gotten Camelot, she was young, still inexperienced and had failed before. She was in luck that all Ironed wanted was a kingdom for his son, whom she had accepted to marry. Though that was clearly overrated and mostly to her advantage, since Ironed only looked to dispose of his weakling of a son, prince Annhar, and was willing to make everything smooth for her. She was to be in truth Queen of Camelot, Annhar would be a mere consort she could very well choose to ignore.

"Sire," she bowed before him. "You wished to see me?"

"I so wished, indeed," he spoke slowly.

"My sister has accompanied me here, I was a bit surprised to hear that you only wished to see me," she said smiling graciously.

"I wanted a word with you alone, my dear Morgana."

He stood up, his massive frame towering over her, and gently took both her hands in his, while his amber eyes glanced deep into her emerald ones. "I only wish to know if you are happy, now that you are Queen."

"I am happy, sire," Morgana replied in earnest. The king smiled and gave her hands a warm squeeze.

"Then I desire to grant you some more wishes."

"But sire, you have already granted me my greatest wish!" she replied quickly. "I wouldn't ever dream of asking for anything more!"

Ironed laughed and shook his head. "My dear Morgana, you are very kind. Young and innocent above all, as far as I am concerned. But I am aware that many wishes should be granted to you in exchange of your acceptance of my son. Take the word of a weary father."

"Oh, but my lord, I don't believe-"

"But I do. Please, share some other wishes of yours with me and I will do everything in my power to make it true."

Morgana smiled, a bit nervous but nonetheless pleased, for few were the things that were not in the Witch King's power to fulfill. "I wish for a long and happy rule at your son's side, my lord, of course. But above all I wish for those of my blood to rule over Camelot for a thousand years."

Ironed ran his fingers through his long white beard, thoughtful. He took his time before he answered, and his brow was furrowed, ever so slightly.

"That is a perilous wish, Morgana," he spoke at last. "Blood is a treacherous thing to speak of. You have no children of your own yet, and prince Arthur Pendragon, your brother, is _one of your blood._ "

Morgana's face paled. Her jaw clenched and she fought a gasp of hidden fear that she denied admitting even to herself.

"Not if you will take care of it, sire, as you promised," she replied, her voice a mere whisper.

"And that would be another wish," Ironed said kindly. "Dare to voice it."

"I know of a place much dreaded, and from where very few were ever to return. Very few who were graced and chosen. The kingdom of Underworld," she spoke with a sudden resolution. "I want Arthur sent to Underworld and enslaved there for the rest of his days! And I want his loyal servant Merlin to share his beloved prince's fate!"

"But why? It is not the prince, but rather his father who is to blame for your long years of torment and fear. It would be far more practical to just end Arthur's life and to send Uther into slavery."

"Uther is already torn and knelt, he is much worn and his days are numbered. His agony would be short and would bring me but little satisfaction. I wish him to remain here, in my grasp, so that I can feel his pain and feast upon it. Arthur is young and many years lay before him to suffer. My wish is made!"

She gazed upon the Witch King and saw him pondering, after he'd seemed rather taken aback by her determination, for Ironed was not a man of rash decisions.

"Very well. But it was said in a prophecy that prince Arthur's destiny and his servant's are entwined. Keeping them apart may prove wiser…"

Morgana could not help a malicious laugh. "Down there in the Underworld there is no sunshine and no hope. There will be no more of that destiny for them but suffering and despair, they will end up begging for death and death will come slow and agonizing," she declared. "As for keeping them apart, just have them sold to different houses."

"Then be it as you wish."


	2. Ashes of Camelot

**2** **. ASHES OF CAMELOT**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

The castle of Camelot was richly decorated to the special occasion and no effort had been spared on this glorious day of Queen Morgana's rule, in which she was to be united in matrimony with prince Annhar of Greytower, the youngest son of Witch King Ironed. This grand day was to be remembered, Morgana had sworn to herself, and as such all diligences were made that the favor of all the noblemen and the wealthy inhabitants of Camelot's Upper Town would be won for the ceremony. Not that that had proven hard, they were far from difficult to please and their allegiance was not one particularly hard to bend.

Servants had begun running errands around the castle hurrying with the last preparations since the break of dawn. On top of that, countless guests kept arriving and there was a general buzzing and a vibe of unrest that, joyous as they may have been, were making Morgana feel unsettled.

She now stood in her chambers, in front of a large mirror, glancing absently at her own reflection. Her maids were busy arranging the folds of her snow white wedding gown, which was made of the finest of silk and embroidered with the whitest pearls, so as to fall perfectly around her body. A high degree of artistry had been employed in the doing of her hair and on her make-up. But while she possessed that type of porcelain beauty that was the envy of all maidens and her skin was usually flawless, today there was a slight crease on her forehead which, however inconspicuous may have been to the eyes of the unadvised, kept drawing her attention. But it was not the mark on her skin as much as it was the feeling in her gut that bothered her. Morgana had not slept well. She'd had a dream that was too vague to be a prophecy, but frightening enough to be ominous.

"What is it, sister? What have you dreamed about?" Morgause asked, placing a comforting hand on her bare shoulder.

"Oh Morgause!" her sister suddenly cried out, turning to face her. "It was so dark and hazy, I could barely see anything. And then there were flames, high flames, and from those flames a figure emerged. A tall, menacing figure" She paused and visibly shuddered. "It was a warrior, holding an axe and a sword. There were red banners everywhere around him, and wild soldiers howling like beasts! It was terrible, I was so frightened! And he was covered in blood!"

Morgause frowned, lost in thought for a moment. "Could you not get a glimpse of his face?"

"No! There was too much blood on him, on his face too! And on his armor and his weapons, dripping! Oh, so much blood! "

"Did he speak?"

"Not a word. But I could tell he was an enemy," Morgana whispered, pressing her hands against her chest in an attempt to slower her breathing.

"Oh, Morgana! There are always enemies, many have come upon Camelot in the past and probably many have yet to rise. But we are together, sister, strong, united. They'll never break us. We will overcome whatever problems may come, I promise!"

Morgana sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She had been very naïve to think that 'a long and happy rule' was more than a word in the wind. There was no such thing. Uther had fought long and hard to keep Camelot and she would have to as well. She instantly cursed herself for thinking of Uther and remembering that she'd visited him that morning. But on the brighter side, her revenge had worked just wonderfully and she was pleased with the devastation she'd read upon his features. Thus concluding, she decided to dismiss such time wasting thoughts altogether.

"Come, sister," Morgause spoke in a gentle tone. "It's time."

With Morgause by her side, Queen Morgana walked proudly into the throne room, where a rather impressive and elitist crowd had gathered to witness the ceremony. She could feel a mixture of admiration and envy in the many eyes that watched her. And fear in some - that brought her undeniable satisfaction.

Prince Annhar of Greytower, which was to be crowned Prince Consort on the same occasion, waited patiently for her arrival at the base of the throne steps, with his head bowed respectfully. From time to time he did peak though, stealing fugitive glances of his magnificent bride and slightly blushing. Morgana smiled benevolently in his direction, somewhat amused of his obvious timidity. His father must have prepared him well for the occasion, or at least must have struggled in this purpose for quite a while. Prince Annhar was very young, younger than Morgana, and quite a clumsy boy, by all accounts. He had a rather plain look, brown haired and pale faced, with plenty of freckles, and the ceremonial garments of exquisite purple silk and velvet, decorated with intricate golden embroideries and gems, gave him a clear discomfort which he wasn't very successfully concealing. A golden crown on the top of his head was probably the last thing he needed. Apart from that, he was said to share nothing of his father's spirited wickedness and abilities. He was a good match though, Morgana thought. The Prince Consort Annhar of Greytower would be no more than a puppet in her hands, or maybe not even that, a ragged doll, yes, that was the word best suited to describe him. She would have her will in everything while he would just sit there, beside her, gazing at her with dreamy and adoring eyes.

As she graciously took her place in front of her throne and of her future husband, Queen Morgana casually remembered that there had been a time when she had dreamed of a fairytale wedding that would consequently result in a 'happily ever after', a time when she had dreamed of love, of true love, of a love so sweet and so powerful that would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a perfect happiness. And there had been a time when she had secretly dreamed that Arthur was the one with whom she was meant to have all that, a time before knowing that he was her brother and before she had grown to hate him. Well, she pondered, as a disdainful smile played on her lips for a brief moment, none of them was to find that love now, since he was condemned to a life of bitter suffering and humiliation and she was past and above such silly things, such girly fantasies. No, Morgana had discovered something far sweeter, far stronger, and far more ecstatic than love could ever be, and that was power.

Her musings were interrupted by the Master of Ceremonies, who asked prince Annhar of Greytower to make his vows as Prince of Camelot and his wedding vows. He went through with that quite well, considering the state of his emotions. She was amused again when his freckled cheeks blushed with the kind of sincere emotion that for her belonged to a distant past, when she too had been innocent and harmless. He was trembling slightly when he slipped the ring on her delicate, slender finger and leaned in to seal her lips with a soft kiss.

"I proclaim you - Annhar of Greytower – Prince of Camelot and my Consort!" Queen Morgana declared. She then took the golden crown from its red velvet pillow and weighted it for a moment in her hands. Much _too heavy_ for a boy such as him, she thought fugitively, before carefully placing it on his forehead.

The Court and the guests cheered for the happy pair and they both waved their hand towards the audience, smiling. Then the signal was given and big torches were lit up in the hall of feasts, on the castle grounds and all around the Upper Town. And the celebrations began.

* * *

 

Lancelot walked in to see Gaius sitting on a small stool at the side of Gwen's bed. The kind old man seemed to have aged a few centuries more past his years. The pain of losing both his prince and his beloved ward weighted heavily upon his heart, but he was bravely keeping it all concealed for the sake of others. Lancelot knew the kind of effort it had to be taking him not to crumple in despair right then and there. But he found it his utmost duty to be strong for Gwen, for him and the other knights, and for his king.

"Will it start soon?" Gaius asked in a low, exhausted voice.

"It's about to. They've brought…" Lancelot's words stopped in his throat at the sight of Gwen. She was sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of her, hands twitching uncontrollably in her lap. Her head suddenly snapped up at him and she let out a gasp.

"They can't!" she screamed. "They can't burn him! I won't let them! Gaius!"

Her gaze trailed to Gaius and the old physician could do nothing but to shake his head, sorrowful.

"Gaius, you cannot let them burn him, please!" Tears welled down her cheeks. "Lancelot?" She rose from the bed only to collapse on the floor, desperately hugging the knight's knees. "Lancelot, he is your friend, please! Please!"

"Gwen…"Gaius began in a soft voice "Arthur is dead. I saw when they brought the coffin two days ago," He would have rather spared her of the details, but she had to be made to see reason, however mind shattering it may have been for her to hear and for him to remember. "There's nothing left but his bones. Just a handful of bones, Gwen."

Lancelot had gently lifted Gwen up on her feet and held her tightly in his arms as she now wept bitterly, in silence, the feeling of ultimate defeat upon her. He fought hard to fence out the image and the shudder brought by Gaius's words, but it was all pouring into his mind and his body mercilessly, like venom. They were all broken, all those who had been close to Arthur and Merlin, broken beyond mending.

"The ceremony must be carried on. His soul must be free," the Court physician added. "It's best if I prepare you a sleeping potion and you get some rest. There's no need for you to go through this," he suggested.

"No, Gaius," she barely whispered. "I have to go. I must be with him, or he'll never forgive me. I will never forgive myself!"

With all the pain that was tearing him up inside, Leon had worried even more about Uther's condition than anything else. On the great occasion of her wedding day, Morgana had shown the exceptional clemency of allowing the imprisoned former king to attend his son's funeral, under close watch of her guards. Mercy she had cynically named allowing for a torn father to behold his son's funeral pyre. But the usurped king walked upright, not even a bit stumbling, his face a mask of stone. As he advanced, closely escorted by two of Morgana's guards, holding his chin firmly up in the desperate defiance of a man that had nothing to lose anymore, stripped of his very soul, his muted grief spoke all the more loudly.

The small procession eventually reached the square of the Lower Town, where the people had gathered to pay their last homage to the fallen prince of Camelot. In contrast to the joyous sounds coming from the castle and the Upper Town, down here the silence was overwhelming and almost unbearable. The lit candles held by the hundreds of hands cast pale flickers upon the grieving faces of those brought together by pain in the darkest of all nights that had ever fallen upon their kingdom. The simple wooden coffin containing the earthly remains of prince Arthur Pendragon lay on a small pyre built by his former knights. For under Morgana's rule they were knights no more, and in their silent mourning they had dwindled and had become no more than mere wraiths. They were the wraiths of the Once and Future King that was gone, never to return.

They moved forward holding torches ablaze and Gaius advanced to where Uther stood motionless, gently grabbing his arm. Leon came from the other side, full of concern for his lord. It also gave him a reason not to look at the pyre. Sir Leon was undoubtedly a man of great strength, forged in the heat of battle, but such endurance proved too much even for the likes of him.

A joint and mingled prayer, of the new and of the old religion, resounded in a multitude of voices as the flames engulfed the small pyre and people fell on their knees. King Uther alone remained standing, unmoved, staring with an empty gaze into the fire he'd used to end the lives of many guilty and of many innocent, and which was now consuming his only son, the sole purpose of his struggle and of his existence. Sorcery and treachery had stricken a deadly blow into everything he'd held dear and had triumphed. And now the pyre of his sorrow was their bonfire of victory.

It was nearly dawn when the flames eventually died out and people began to leave. Sir Leon and the other knights gathered around their king, where he still stood, seemingly carved in stone. Gaius was also by his side, and of course Queen Morgana's ever vigilant guards.

"Sire?" Gaius asked respectfully, but no answer ever came. The light had left the king's eyes when the last sparkle had burnt out on his son's pyre and his lips had been forever silenced by death's merciful touch. And thus, the wind that blew softly bore away the soul of the once mighty king Uther Pendragon, together with the ashes of Camelot.


	3. Merlin, son of Balinor

**3** **. MERLIN, SON OF BALINOR**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

As fever ravished him mercilessly, Merlin knew no more than that he was in Hell. As much as he hated the details of it, he forced his mind to go through them again and again, fearful that it too would fail him, just as his frail body was doing. Thus, curling up on the cold stone floor and pulling the thin blanket around himself as tightly as he could, he went through everything once more. The first thing he recalled was King Ironed. No, it was Witch King Ironed, Morgana's ally. He and Arthur were among his many prisoners, that he remembered quite clearly, being captured and thrown into his dungeons. The next thing was King Ironed voicing Queen Morgana's wish of their fate – she wanted them both sent to the Kingdom of Underworld and enslaved there for the rest of their days. Merlin had had no idea what Underworld was, all he could imagine was that it must have been some place of foul reputation, little did he know that it was indeed another _world_ ,most likely originally created by means of the worst of magic, _underground_. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to recall even a single detail of the journey down here. He guessed he must have been unconscious. He did remember being loaded in some sort of sinister wagon together with other prisoners of King Ironed, all destined to the same fate. That had been the last time he'd seen Arthur, before being engulfed by darkness. After all that, he'd woken up down here, in these halls which were called kitchens. He was the slave of a lord, he'd been explained in very few words, and these were the kitchens of his palace. He would toil in here every day with the other slaves assigned to the task and sleep in a small corner during the night. He was never allowed to leave the kitchen halls, under no circumstances, and he was to obey the cooks in everything, without asking stupid questions. Actually without asking any questions, without speaking at all. And so his nightmare had begun. It was very dark in the kitchens, very few torches were used for the illumination and the large but intricately barred windows provided almost no light, irrespective of whether it was day or night. The outside view was rather disconcerting as well, strips of barren, sandy plain, in between a multitude of stone paved roads, large stone castles and groups of other smaller buildings, barely any tiny bits of vegetation here and there. At night everything was pitch black, while during the day a very pale, filtered light, for there was never any sunlight, seemed to come from somewhere far above. But he hadn't much time to observe what was outside the castle walls. His chores started very early in the morning and did not end until very late during the night. Significant amounts of food were prepared in the kitchens and the cooks and the slaves had work to do almost all the time, a tedious and exhausting labor. The Underworlders were extremely fond of meat, as Merlin soon found out. All sorts of bizarre animals made their menu and for the meat to be fresh they were usually brought to the kitchens alive. At first, Merlin had preferred not to think too much about the few morsels that were his meals, but he quickly became increasingly disgusted with them, to the point where he could barely put anything into his mouth. And then there was the invigilator with the whip, generously granting a whiplash across the back of anyone who made the slightest mistake and displeased the cooks. Clumsy as he was, Merlin was sure that his own back must have been covered in scars, maintaining him in a state of permanent discomfort. Morgana had been inspired in choosing his punishment, he thought bitterly. But these rather minor details, such as the chores and the beating, were far from being his _true_ punishment. Once down here, Merlin had found himself to be an ordinary man. He could feel that magic was still inside him, but for some occult reason he could not use it. Plain and simple, in Underworld no spell of his would have any effect, not even the most basic and instinctive abilities he'd possessed would function. He felt all the more helpless as the magic inside him seemed to possess a will of its own in rebelling against his incapacity, twitching and biting at his insides like a venomous snake, poisoning him to no end. All these things combined had eventually led to his current illness. For the last two days he'd not even been able to get himself up on his feet, let alone do any sort of work, therefore he'd been eventually left to his own devices, to either recover or die. Thus completing the full review of the recent events, Merlin abandoned himself to unconsciousness.

* * *

 

He lay out cold for quite a while, completely unaware of what was going on around him. The first thing he saw when he eventually woke up was a pair of bright blue eyes, adorned with long silky lashes, staring down at him concerned.

"You're awake," a girl's voice whispered gently and a delicate hand moved up to push away a few strands of sweaty hair off his brow.

"Um…hello," Merlin muttered under his breath, unsure of his own voice.

"My name is Whiteflower. You were very sick this past week, but I've been nursing you and the physician says you are alright now. You are just a bit worn out, but you will fully recover." Merlin flinched slightly at the word 'physician'. It painfully reminded him of Gaius.

"What's your name?" the girl asked, pushing a lock of silky blonde hair behind her ear.

"Merlin…"

"Merlin…It sounds like a song," she observed, more for herself. The young warlock managed a weak smile. He made an effort to sit up in bed, for he was now in a bed, and to glance around. They were in a stone room, with narrow windows and very little furniture, but which had a fireplace. It was warm and cozy.

"Where am I?"

"You were brought here from the kitchens, the _Effens_ were in need of new servants and I thought… when I saw you down there… that maybe you could be helped. The invigilator told me that you were a servant… um…before," she explained, hesitating upon the last word.

"Um… Who are the _Effens_?"

"You have no idea about the Underworld, have you?" Whiteflower asked warily.

"I don't even remember how I got here, only that I was enslaved. And once here, I never left the kitchens. I was not allowed to speak to anyone, not even with the other slaves. I don't have any idea-"

"Then I must teach you everything!" Whiteflower said quickly, smiling. Merlin couldn't help but smile back at her enthusiasm. "But you must promise that you shall pay attention." Whiteflower leaned forward and lifted his pillow up to make him more comfortable.

"I promise," he agreed, giving her a grateful smile. After the hellish darkness of the kitchens, her presence was a welcomed ray of sun.

"I don't even know where to begin," she laughed softly. "But there, I will tell you of the Houses first. No, no, about the king first. There is the King of Underworld – Craven the Great, and then there are the Lords and their Houses, and then the commoners."

"Sounds pretty simple," Merlin noticed.

"Yes, but you must pay great attention to names and titles," she warned. "So, the Lords are called _Masters_ , their wives are called _Mistresses_ , their free servants – well, they are a lot more than servants, it's almost a title - are called _Effens_ , while the slaves, such as you and I, are simply called by their name. So are the commoners. Also, the Lords have usually just one name, which is given to their house, while the _Effens_ usually have nicknames after their name."

"I think I've got it," he said with a quick smile.

"Merlin, be very careful," Whiteflower said seriously. "As soon as you are on your feet you will be helping me around the castle, so you must also know our House. I'll tell you the important names and you'd best keep them in mind. Our Lord is named Galiel, his wives-"

"Wait! He has _wives_? Like… several wives?" Merlin asked, honestly surprised.

She rolled her eyes, impatient. "Yes, a Lord can take as many wives as he pleases. So our _Master_ is Galiel, the _Mistresses_ are Nevis, Allenis and Chandra, and our _Effens_ are Amberath the Young, Jarblack the Hammer and Alia of the Blade."

"Crystal clear," Merlin stated, though both the names and the titles had slipped from his mind almost immediately after he'd heard them.

"Oh, and the crest of our House is a silver hydra… or a silver gargoyle…" Whiteflower frowned, confused. "Um… I'm not sure; do you happen to know the difference between the two?"

Merlin scratched his head. "I think a hydra has several heads…" he said eventually.

"Oh my God, you're right!" she squealed. "Damn, that's King Craven's crest, and it's golden. And the gargoyle has wings?"

"I believe so."

"Then ours is the gargoyle. A silver gargoyle." she concluded.

* * *

 

"Hurry up, Merlin!" Whiteflower urged him as she fastened a long grey cloak around her shoulders. "We must leave _now!_ "

He hurried to pick up his own cloak and quite closely caught a large bag that another servant shoved into his arms. "Right. You told me we were going out today, I'm sorry…" he panted running after her down a corridor.

"We're going to the Arena, Merlin! Not out," she said with a fake frown.

"I meant out, like… in the city. I've never been out there, I'm quite curious actually-"

"Oh Merlin," she rolled her eyes playfully. "We're not going into the city. Well, the Arena is in the city, but each castle has a direct tunnel of access, we'll go through there. The Lords do not go onto the city streets often, they hate to mingle with the commoners."

"Oh..." Merlin was disappointed. He really wanted to go into the city, as he still had some vague hope that maybe Arthur was there, somewhere… but he dismissed that thought. Instead he rummaged in his pocket and took out a small string trinket.

"Whiteflower?" he said stopping for a moment. "I have something for you…" he added hesitantly.

She turned surprised. "You do?"

"Yeah, I thought… You've been so good to me, you nursed me back to health and you taught me everything I needed to know… So I just thought I'd make this for you." He held out the small string bracelet he'd knitted for her.

The girl's eyes widened with sincere emotion. "Really? You made it for me?" She gently took it with trembling fingers and tied it around her left wrist. "Oh Merlin," she then said in a low voice "No one ever made anything for me!" She sniffed and pulled him into a sudden embrace.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your heartfelt moment, but we really must go, Master is ready," a voice said and Whiteflower pulled abruptly from Merlin's arms. A young woman had appeared out of nowhere in front of them. Judging by her simple black garments and silver jewelry Merlin realized she was one of the Effens.

"Effen Alia…" Whiteflower said with a quick bow.

Merlin only knew Effen Amberath, whom he currently served, he had never met her before. All Effens were warriors, he'd been told, but Alia hardly looked the part. She wasn't exactly petite but still quite fragile looking. Her pale face had beautiful and delicate features and her raven black hair was swept in a simple, waist long braid, giving her a very youthful appearance. She glanced at him and then at Whiteflower quizzically.

"Effen Alia, this is Merlin," the girl explained. "He's new around here; he's serving Effen Amberath… and helping me… And I'm quite fond of him!"

Merlin blushed immediately upon hearing her last words. It was incredible just how open and sincere Whiteflower was. Effen Alia observed him thoughtfully and suddenly she reached out and touched his cheek with her fingers.

"Merlin, son of Balinor, is worthy of your trust… For he will kill for you," she spoke slowly, in a sort of trance-like voice.

Merlin gasped and instantly flinched away from her touch, while Whiteflower stared, genuinely puzzled.

"What?"

Effen Alia blinked a couple of times and frowned. "What? Did I say something?"

Whiteflower nodded.

"Oh damn!" Alia's face twisted in an embarrassed grimace. "It was one of those moments when I say weird stuff, wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid it was, Effen Alia…"

"Right. Look, Merlin, I'm sorry, if I said something nasty or… offensive… or whatever, just ignore it."

Merlin was utterly confused and said nothing in reply.

"We must really go now, there's Master," she added quickly and walked away.

Lord Galiel was travelling, together with his wives, in a large palanquin carried by lycans. Behind them walked the rest of his small court - the Effens, Jarblack, Alia and Amberath, and Galiel's personal slaves, the ones of his wives and another three, one for his each of the Effens. Whiteflower was Alia's personal attendant. Probably eager to get over the weird moment from earlier, Effen Alia offered to give Merlin an insightful account of the Arena. Apart from various trades, the Arena was the main source of income of the Underworld. Many wealthy men from the 'outside', noblemen and merchants alike, descended into the Underworld with the King's and the Lords' permission and were willing to pay good money to be entertained by the most fantastic, dirty and gore fights, which were not allowed in their world. Slave warriors were used in these fights and each House had such slaves, who fought to bring glory to it. They were kept in the dungeons beneath the Arena, and it was one of the Effens' duties to take care of their maintenance and training. Besides being a means of entertainment, the public fights were also the way in which the Lords chose to solve their conflicts, by means of challenge. If the conflict or challenge was particularly serious, sometimes the Effens would fight. Such was the case today, when Amberath the Young was to confront Olverd Whitehair, from the House of Eleazad.

Merlin shot a quick glance towards Effen Amberath. He was a pleasant looking young man, with long curly brown hair and gentle brown eyes. He was tall and muscular, but nothing like the giant Jarblack the Hammer. It somehow reminded him of Arthur, though Amberath had nothing prattish about him. At the thought of Arthur, Merlin's heart sank. Who knew what fate his prince had faced…? Had he been sent to fight in the Arena? Was he still alive?

The road to the Arena, through a dark, sinister and quite narrow tunnel, vaguely lit by randomly placed torches, took them quite a while. At last, they reached a gate and got out into the main aisle before heading to their section. Every House in Underworld had a section of seats in the audience that was reserved for the Lord and his family, his servants and his slaves.

As much as the Lords hated the proximity of commoners, it could not be avoided altogether, as they had free access to the fights and were literally pouring into the aisles. They were shouting and pushing their way forward, in a wave that nearly knocked down Galiel's palanquin. Coming out from the darkness and quiet of the tunnel, Merlin was blinded by the bright light of the Arena and deafened by the crowd's roar. In a moment of confusion, he tripped over someone and dropped his bag on the respective person. The man grabbed his arm and pulled him aside violently.

"I'm very sorry sir, I just-"

"You hit me, boy!" the man growled. "I'll have your thumb for that," he added producing a knife from under his cloak.

Merlin struggled to free his arm, but he was held in an iron grip. The man immobilized his hand and raised the knife for the cut.

"What the hell is going on?"

The man raised his head to see Effen Amberath glaring down at him furiously.

"The boy hit me, Effen," he muttered "I was giving him a lesson."

"Do you know who I am?" the young man hissed.

"You are Effen Amberath the Young, of the House of Galiel…" The man was backing away, visibly frightened.

"Exactly!" Amberath spat. " _You_ don't touch our slaves! Now get out of my sight!"

The attacker did not need to be told twice.

"Merlin, know this," Amberath said, turning to him, "You belong to the House of Galiel. When someone insults you, they insult our Master, so you will insult them back, when someone threatens you, they threaten our Master, so you will threaten them back, and if someone strikes you, they strike our Master, so you will strike back! It's your duty! Do you understand?"

"Yes, Effen," Merlin nodded shyly.

"Here, take this. You'll probably need it," Effen Amberath said, handing Merlin a small dagger.

He took it with shaky hands and balanced it in his palm for a moment. The blade was light as a feather.

"Thank you, Effen."

Eventually, after much fuss, they managed to reach their seats and to settle down. Once he got over the moment of panic from earlier, Merlin glanced around curious. It was just after lunch and the white sand of the Arena shone in the bright sunlight. Yes, sunlight, Merlin noticed, much to his surprise. There was a large light well on the roof, very high above, through which it poured down into the Arena. He couldn't help a smile, as he'd really missed sunlight. _Queen_ Morgana might have been wrong after all, he pondered. Even though he was still half in the pits of despair for losing Arthur and his magic self, there was sunlight down here after all, and not everyone was cruel and malevolent. So he figured he was sort of lucky.

The continuous buzzing of the audience diminished to some extent upon the king's arrival. Craven the Great took his seat in his balcony, surrounded by his court, and the Master of Ceremonies announced the fights of the day out loud. Then the iron gates of the ground level were lifted and the first pair of warriors walked upon the sands, acclaimed by the spectators. Merlin had known he wouldn't like this and was soon proven more than right. He found the gore spectacle very frightening and equally disgusting. Unlike him, the crowd loved every second of it. Every deadly blow made them cheer wildly and the sight of blood made them absolutely ecstatic. At his side, Whiteflower was most of the times too scared to look but tried to conceal it, for appearances' sake. Lord Galiel made comments and assessments of the warriors from time to time, more or less ignored by his wives, who seemed utterly bored, while the Effens weren't really paying attention, being more preoccupied with Amberath's match, which was to begin soon.

The Master of Ceremonies finally announced the fight between Effen Olverd Whitehair, from the House of Eleazad and Effen Amberath the Young, from the House of Galiel.

The iron gate was lifted again and Olverd Whitehair came into view. He was terrible to behold, but the slaughter addicted audience cheered for him enthusiastically. He was about the size of Jarblack but taller, with long braided white hair and red eyes. He wore a heavy iron breastplate with the tree of the House of Eleazad on his chest and carried two broad jagged swords. Then there came Amberath, in a light leather armor bearing the silver gargoyle of the House of Galiel, carrying a long sword and a simple bronze shield. He waved his hand confidently and the ladies acclaimed him aloud. Letting out a growl, Olverd charged towards him with his swords raised, but Amberath was swift and eluded him. The blades crossed several times fruitlessly. However his own forward attack was not successful, Whitehair blocking his blow with one sword and pounding on his shield with the other. Amberath took a step back, lifting his shield up to protect his face, and that was his undoing. Olverd thrust one sword forward, running him through. The young man fell to his knees, dropping his shield and his sword. The giant's other sword suddenly flickered and Amberath's head rolled in the sand, while the crowd roared wildly.

Lord Galiel slammed his fist into the table beside him, while Whiteflower let out a scream and hid her face into Merlin's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Merlin's own breath had caught in his throat and he fought back his tears with difficulty. He could not believe it.

"Is there no one else from the House of Galiel who dares to fight me?" Olverd growled, glancing up to where Galiel stood.

Before Merlin could realize what happened, Effen Alia jumped over the balustrade and down on the sand.

"I, Alia of the Blade, will fight you!" she shouted, her voice seeping with anger.

The monster laughed. "You cannot fight me, whore! I want a warrior".

But she lifted her chin in a defiant way that allowed no denial. Merlin couldn't take it anymore. He could not watch her die too. Whiteflower loved her Effen and would have been devastated. Suddenly, amidst all that violent emotion, he found himself again. He may not have been a warlock anymore, but he was still brave, still willing to fight for what he cared about. Effen Alia had helped him remember all that, remember who he was. And fight he would, Merlin resolved. He pulled away from Whiteflower and jumped down after her.

"I, _Merlin, son of Balinor_ , will fight you!"

Olverd laughed even harder.

"You cannot fight, Merlin, you're not an Effen," Alia spoke in a low voice.

"I won't let him kill you, Effen! You can't ask that of me!" he argued.

Effen Alia looked at him with a faint smile, with the same bizarre expression from earlier. "You were meant for far more than this, Merlin," she said, and her arm pushed him back ever so gently.

"Effen Alia of the House of Galiel will fight Effen Olverd Whitehair, of the House of Eleazad, in half an hour!" the Master of Ceremonies announced. The two stepped away from each other and Effen Alia headed to the dungeons, where they also kept their armory. Merlin followed and soon Whiteflower joined them. The poor girl was shaking and tears slid down her cheeks, but she forced herself to make no sound. She reached for Merlin's hand and squeezed it tightly. The servants brought Effen Alia a similar leather armor and geared her up. A lycan handed her a long sword and a battle axe.

"Effen Alia…" Whiteflower murmured.

"Merlin, If I should fall, promise you'll take care of her."

"I promise, Effen Alia," he whispered.

Another servant brought her a bowl filled with what Merlin realized with horror it was fresh blood and she dipped her hands in it. She then raised her hands above her head and took a deep breath.

"Our tears in their blood!" she spoke loudly. The lycan and the other servants repeated. Alia wiped the blood away on her trousers and picked up her weapons.

Whitehair was ready when she stepped out on the sand and burst into laughter again. "Soon I shall have the heads of all your Effens, Galiel!" he shouted. Lord Galiel grimaced but did not reply. He shot a disdainful glance over to where Eleazad sat, chatting excitedly with a woman from his court.

Effen Alia turned her head and spat in the sand, spinning the battle axe. Olverd was still laughing when she charged on him, with a savage growl. He lifted his arm to strike but the axe diverted his blow, while her sword thrust into his exposed armpit, where his armor was weak. She then quickly slipped behind his back, pushing him forward with her boot. Whitehair fell face down in the sand with a scream and Alia thrust the sword again, in the back of his skull. As his last breath came out, she spat again on his body and tossed the sword and the axe down in the sand. The audience acclaimed in a total frenzy.

* * *

 

Merlin was cleaning up around the room that had belonged to Effen Amberath. From time to time he stopped to wipe away his tears. He couldn't help thinking that the young Effen could have eventually become a good friend of his, if only he had lived. If only he had not died that horrible death.

"Merlin?"

He turned around to see Effen Alia standing in the doorframe. She was in her usual calm and quiet demeanor, which Merlin found now rather odd after her display of ferocity in the Arena. But there was more to her than met the eye.

"Effen Alia," he murmured bowing.

"Are you angry with me, Merlin?" she asked, much to his surprise. After all, he was a slave, why would she care.

"No, why would I be angry?"

"I know I've been saying some weird things to you… must have left you confused. But I'm not insane, you know."

He nodded. "I know. But I don't believe that you have moments when you are unaware you say 'weird stuff'. I think you know what you're saying."

She smiled briefly. "I do know. But it's not like I have the gift of prophecy or something. Sometimes it just… you know… hits me, a certain bit of something. And sometimes I am not prepared for it and it slips out."

"That's alright. I didn't mind. And maybe you're right." He chewed his lip nervously. "But if I could ask you…"

"Yes?"

"I had a… brother outside. All I know is that he was brought here too, as a slave… Will I ever see him again?" he asked warily.

Alia shook her head. "I'm sorry Merlin, I have no idea. And you should know that I drink quite a lot." Saying that she walked away.


	4. Arthur the Red

**4** **. ARTHUR THE RED**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

His eyes opened slowly in the now familiar semi-darkness of the dungeons, his ears alert to the sounds of the preparations made for a new day in the Arena. There was a constant rattling of chains as new slaves were brought in their cells or moved around and a clinging of armors, shields and weapons as they were being repaired, cleaned and polished for a new day of glory and death. He forced himself to sit upright in the small bed, pushing the rough blanket away from his bare skin, and stretched his back and his neck. The cut on his left upper arm still stung every time he moved, but it was nothing compared to the pounding in his head. Every morning he would curse himself for drinking so much _Liquor_ , only to drink some more the next evening. Most of the slaves and the guests coming from the 'outside' were consuming the Liquor completely unaware of what they were drinking. It was a strong wine mixed with the blood of the warriors fallen in the Arena, and with powerful spices. It had highly hallucinogen effects and because of that, some believed that regular consumption brought visions of the future, thus attributing it a higher purpose than that of what it really was, a wicked and appalling drug. But then again, such knowledge was rather futile, since those willing to indulge in the pleasures of the Underworld had long disposed of any decency, and the slaves simply didn't care and needed it anyway. He had grown to need it too, it gave him beautiful dreams and made him sleep so well, thus he was glad the warrior slaves were supplied with it for free. After all, there was plenty of blood.

It was almost noon – everybody in the Underworld would wake around noon and go to bed around midnight - and the serving slaves brought him a rich breakfast, mainly almost raw meat, some dark bread and water. One of the slaves checked his wound and re-dressed it, another brought fresh clothes, while a massive lycan cleaned his armor and sharpened his sword. They all moved precisely, to the purpose, without unnecessary words. His fight was among the first of the day, so there was no time to waste. Once they were finished with the preparations, one slave helped him get dressed, another put on his armor and the lycan oiled it all over so it would be all slippery and divert blows. Then they wrapped red strips of cloth on his hands, leaving only his fingers out - red for luck, after all he was the only warrior slave of their house and Master had ordered special care. After that, the usual bowl with fresh blood was brought forward and he slowly sank his hands in it, carefully observing the thick red liquid as it first engulfed his fingers, and then his palms, eventually reaching his wrists.

 _Our tears in their blood_ they said down here. It was a ceremonial incantation for all warriors who were about to walk upon the sands, but occasionally it was more than that – it was a cry of revenge. For him it was so and he thought of it every time, even if it wasn't _his enemies_ he was striking down. But it was a pleasant fiction and it kept him going.

"OUR TEARS IN THEIR BLOOD!" he shouted out loud, thinking of his lost father, his lost love, his lost kingdom and his lost life. "Our tears in their blood" the servants repeated respectfully, and he walked past the iron gates, onto the snow white sand.

* * *

 

Merlin walked alone through the dark tunnel that led to the Arena, occasionally swinging the torch in his hand. He hated the Arena and fortunately for the last year he'd been spared of the sight of it. Effen Amberath had not yet been replaced and both he and Whiteflower were now serving Effen Alia. Alia went to the Arena quite often, since she and Jarblack had plenty of work with the warrior slaves, but she seemed to have understood Merlin's repulsion, so she only took Whiteflower with her, leaving him with various other tasks around the castle. Until today, when Whiteflower had sent message that Effen Alia needed him there, a year later from that horrible day. A year, he mused, sorrowful. A year already, spent in this hellish darkness, with no news of the outside world. And no news of Arthur.

Whiteflower was waiting for him at the gate of the main aisle, impatient. She was happy to see him, as usual, a thing which always managed to lighten his mood, but also for some mysterious reason, she was very excited.

"So what does Effen Alia want me to do today?" he asked.

"Just one task in the evening, but she had no other chores for you and she didn't want you to be seen at the castle sitting without work." she explained.

"What task in the evening?" Merlin asked suspicious.

"You'll be serving Master in person, in his secret apartments. Effen Alia would trust no other servant but you."

"But Master has his personal slaves, the ones who are usually attending to him," he said surprised.

"Yes, but tonight no one must know where Master is, he's hiding," Whiteflower replied.

"Hiding?"

"From his wives. There was a merchant at the castle today, bringing some jewels. When he left, a brooch or some similar trinket fell from his bag and the wives found it. They immediately started fighting for it and Master came to solve the problem, so he took the jewel and cast it into the fire, so none of them would have it."

"Quite a wise decision," Merlin observed.

"I'm not so sure, the wives got angry and swore to kick his ass."

"Over some stupid jewel? That's ridiculous!"

"Well, the wives may have other reasons as well… You know, they are all childless, it is said that he cannot conceive. As long as they remain his wives, their womb will not bear fruit."

"That's sad…" Merlin said, shaking his head.

"They have good shelter, good food and all the entertainment and pleasure they desire, without having to do any sort of work," Whiteflower said sternly "I say they could have had a worse fate."

"I know," Merlin gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Effen Alia sat at a small table in their section, scribbling something with a quill on a piece of paper, while another stack of papers lay by her side. She stole glances at the action in the Arena from time to time.

"Effen Alia, it looks like you have a busy day," Merlin noticed.

"Master is angry because our warrior slaves suck. We had only one victory and five defeats this month, the new lot is scum, only the ogre Orlog is sort of good. Jarblack has been working his ass out with them but he's not young anymore and it's not much to work with anyway. So I have to assess the warriors of the other Houses, to see if we can buy some, and I also have to fill in the invitations for the feast next week. In the same time," she explained motioning to the stack of papers. "Feel free to make suggestions."

"Oh my God, they've announced it!" Whiteflower nearly jumped from her seat.

"What?"

"Arthur of the House of Zoar fights the Clovan twins of the House of Hamza!" she announced proudly.

Merlin flinched involuntarily. "Did you say Arthur…?" he whispered.

Effen Alia gave them both a quizzical glance. "I don't see the reason of this excitement, really." Saying that, she resumed her writing.

"There he comes!" Whiteflower squealed, clapping her hands.

The iron gate was lifted and indeed Arthur walked into the Arena, wearing a bronze armor and shield with the crest of the House of Zoar – a bronze eagle with spread wings, and a long sword. Merlin's heart jumped with unexpected joy, only to see his hopes brutally crushed a moment later, when the Cloven twins entered through the opposite gate. There were three of them, not two as he had expected, three identically looking savages, each carrying two enormous battle axes. The crowd greeted them with wild cheers and they responded accordingly.

"Oh, no! NO! He doesn't stand a chance!" he all but screamed. It was much too cruel – to find Arthur at last, alive and well, only to watch him being slaughtered before his very eyes. Far more than anything he could bear.

"Merlin? What happened?" Whiteflower asked concerned, gently placing an arm around his shoulders.

"He's my best friend, and just when I finally found him, he'll be…" he managed to say, before tears choked him.

"Merlin, what's wrong?" Effen Alia asked, but was interrupted when a servant came.

"Effen Moro Pellemargaroth is here to see you, Effen Alia." She let out a groan.

"Alia, I had to come and see you, I hear your House is in trouble. Rumor has it that Galiel has bought nothing but garbage this time," Pellemargaroth spoke ironically.

"Very bold of you to say that, Moro, just when your _only_ warrior is about to be chopped to pieces," she replied sharply, motioning to the Arena.

"How wrong you are, sweet lady," Moro laughed. "Our warrior will have yet another victory and that stupid dwarf Hamza will be bitterly humiliated," he added confident. "Anyway, I hope to see you in two days, if your Master agrees to my proposal," he then said handing her a folded piece of paper and walked away.

"This is definitely one of those days when all the idiots are upon us," Alia muttered under her breath. "What's wrong Merlin?"

But Merlin had collapsed into Whiteflower's arms, shaken by violent sobs, as he wept desperately.

"Arthur is his best friend, and now he'll watch him die!" the girl said, obviously moved by the young warlock's suffering.

"Shit!" Effen Alia cursed. "I'm sorry, Merlin, there's nothing I can do," she said with a compassionate expression. "Whiteflower, it is best if you take him away from here, he mustn't see this. Take him down to the dungeons, see if Jarblack needs help with anything."

With great effort, Whiteflower managed to take Merlin into the dungeons, as he was barely able to walk and clung to her arm at every step. Once there, she helped him sit on an empty bed in one of the cells. Jarblack poked his head inside to see what had happened and Whiteflower had to give yet another account of the facts.

"Give the boy some Liquor, it might help," the giant suggested.

Whiteflower quickly filled a cup and handed it to Merlin, who stared for a moment at the purple iridescent liquid before downing it in one gulp. He almost immediately collapsed on the bed, with his eyes closed, feeling numb and limp. Tears continued to stream down his cheeks, in his soul the pain was vivid, tearing him apart mercilessly. Above them, the audience cheered and screamed, and every sound made him flinch, as an image of Arthur bloodied and dying lingered behind his eyelids. Whiteflower had kneeled near the bed, holding his hand in hers, and he squeezed unconsciously.

* * *

 

An eternity of torment seemed to pass before he eventually heard Effen Alia's voice.

"Merlin?"

He struggled to open his eyes and observed her unreadable expression.

"Listen, Merlin," she said gently.

"ARTHUR! ARTHUR! ARTHUR THE RED!" the crowd roared in total frenzy.

"He's alive? He won?" Merlin whispered as he sat up abruptly, not yet daring to hope.

She nodded. "Yeah he won. Now we'll never see the end of Pellemargaroth's gloating!" Effen Alia shook her head. "That fucking idiot!" she swore.

"Can we go see him?" Whiteflower asked, jumping to her feet.

"See him? Is that possible?" Merlin whispered, almost disbelieving.

Effen Alia rolled her eyes. "Very well, go see if he'll receive you. But no more than half an hour, Merlin needs to get back to the castle and attend to Master," she agreed.

Whiteflower ran down the dark corridors towards the dungeons of the House of Zoar, almost dragging Merlin after her. A lycan stopped them at the entrance.

"We're here to see Arthur the Red," she explained quickly, her voice choked with emotion.

"We're his friends!" Merlin added.

The lycan groaned and opened the door, peeking inside. "Arthur, there's a boy and a girl here to see you. Do I let them in?"

"Yes, let them in," Merlin heard the familiar voice of his prince, followed by the sound of an armor being dropped on the stone floor.

They both burst in through the open door, nearly knocking the lycan off his feet.

"Arthur, congratulations on your great victory!" Whiteflower squealed, going straight to the prince and all but jumping into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a shy kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you." He smiled and his arm went around her waist, squeezing lightly. She then pulled away abruptly and ran out, blushing, briefly muttering an "I'll wait for you outside." to Merlin.

"Pretty girl! Thanks for bringing her, Merlin," Arthur said amused.

Merlin blinked a couple of times, disbelieving and feeling a slight pang of jealousy. And after a year of not having any idea if he was alive or dead, that's what Arthur had to say to him. He snapped.

"You're a complete PRAT!" he shouted, overwhelmed by mixed emotions.

"Merlin, you never cease to surprise me. You came all the way down to Underworld to tell me that I am a prat. I'm impressed."

"Arthur…" Merlin whispered, fighting to blink away his tears.

Suddenly Arthur approached him and this time he really went for a hug, pulling Merlin into his arms and holding him tightly. "I know, Merlin, I know everything…" he said in a soothing voice. Merlin let his head fall against his prince's shoulder, sobbing, still finding hard to believe that this was real.

"Well, here we are," Merlin said at last. "Now everything will be alright."

Arthur shook his head and went to sit on his bed. "No Merlin, I'm afraid it won't be," he said weary.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, suddenly worried.

"Merlin, as a warrior I have… some privileges, let's say," Arthur explained sighing. "As such, I was able to pay coin to one of the spies who travel to the 'outside world' and to find out what happened lately."

Merlin sat down on the cold floor of Arthur's cell, hugging his knees and resting his forehead on them. The prince's sad tone foretold nothing good. Arthur drew a deep breath before beginning to speak.

"Camelot is currently ruled by _Queen_ Morgana Pendragon and _Prince Consort_ Annhar of Greytower. That damned Morgause is of course by her sister's side, Gaius is still at Court, under strict surveillance, and so is Leon. The other knights are scattered." Arthur paused to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. "And my father is dead. He died at my funeral."

"And Gwen? What happened to Gwen?" Merlin asked, noticing that the prince hadn't mentioned her.

Arthur buried his face in his palms. "Gwen is fine, Merlin. She's in good health, and I believe she's safe." He sighed again "She married Lancelot."

Merlin lifted his head, surprised. "Married Lancelot? So soon? But… couldn't she have waited a bit longer?"

Arthur stood up, angry. "Merlin, have you not listened to what I've been telling you? Everyone in Camelot thinks we are dead. There was a _funeral."_

"But-"

"Morgana claimed that we fought a terrible beast and it devoured us, leaving nothing but our bones. She brought some bones back to Camelot, together with our bloodied clothes and my armor! Gwen saw my bones burn!" he nearly shouted. "There is nothing left for her to wait for!"

"But it's not over, Arthur! We're not dead! We're alive and we'll get out of here and-"He stopped when he noticed Arthur's expression, a mixture of pain and pity.

"There's no getting out of here, Merlin. No one can leave Underworld without the Lords' permission, there's no escaping from it. It's over."

Merlin's eyes filled with tears once more, a sudden feeling of utter defeat and despair upon him.

"But that's not your destiny. You're the Once and Future King…" he whispered.

Arthur slowly walked to his table and began filling a goblet with Liquor. He watched it in concentration as he poured, smiling sadly at its purple glow.

"No, Merlin. I'm Arthur the Red, the Once and Only warrior slave of the House of Zoar, and you're Merlin, slave of the House of Galiel. We're both nothing but miserable slaves and this is how we'll meet our end," he concluded taking a long sip.

Merlin shook his head. "I can't believe it! And the way you say it, it seems you almost take pride in it."

"I take pride in what I can these days, Merlin. I advise you to do the same."

Merlin wiped his tears with a trembling hand. "The only thing I ever took pride in was you, Arthur…"

The prince remained silent.

"At least… can I still come and see you?" he asked.

"Of course, if you have the time. And if I stay alive…" Arthur replied with a wry smile.

* * *

 

As Merlin walked out the door, numb with hopelessness, Arthur sighed again. After all, Merlin was so young, so innocent, so helpless against the evils of this world, so idealistic and full of dreams and he'd had to brutally crush all that by revealing the truth. He'd hated every second of it, all the more since he knew there was nothing he could have done to make it easier on him, to alleviate his pain. Merlin was not the kind that could adjust easily, there was no making him cope with reality in a gentle way and as much as he kept speaking of destiny, it would be hard for him to come to its terms. Silently, the prince cursed Witch King Ironed, Morgause, _Queen_ Morgana and her husband, and all those who had plotted for their disgrace. He filled his goblet again and gulped down the Liquor, savoring the intoxicating feeling of it running down his throat, into his veins, mingling with his blood. He dropped on his back on the bed and let the goblet fall from his hand, absentmindedly watching it as it rolled down on the floor, and he abandoned himself once more to the land of dreams.

Merlin left Zoar's dungeons feeling a dull but still protruding pain in his chest. Could it really be over for him and Arthur? As he pondered, he was more and more inclined to believe so. At least Gaius and their friends were alright, as little solace as that was. Whiteflower offered to walk him to the gate of their tunnel and he gently took her hand in his, convinced that she was one of the very few good things that were left to him in this life.

They were near the gates when they were surrounded. Four commoners had them backed against the wall and one of them grabbed Whiteflower by the hair, pulling her to him. She let out a scream, struggling wildly.

"Let her go! Now!" Merlin hissed, his hand moving down to grip the dagger he kept into his belt.

"The girl's too pretty for a weakling like you, boy," the commoner said and the other men laughed. "She's coming with me."

"You are insulting the House of Galiel!" Merlin shouted.

"The House of Galiel can kiss my arse!" More laughter followed as they men began closing in on them.

"Let her go or I swear I'll kill you!"

"Yeah? Let's see you do that!"

Suddenly the man let go of Whiteflower, charging on Merlin. He knocked the young warlock off his feet and straddled him, his hands closing around his neck in a deadly grip. But Merlin's hand moved and clutched the dagger almost unconsciously, thrusting it desperately into the man's chest, up to its handle. The attacker let out a choked rattle and his limp body fell off to the side. The warlock pushed him aside and jumped on his feet, the bloodied dagger ready in his hands. The other three men were quick to make their escape.

 _Merlin, son of Balinor, is worthy of your trust… For he will kill for you_ Merlin remembered as he finally let the dagger fall from his hand and he pulled Whiteflower to his chest. He held her tightly as she wept, gently caressing her ruffled hair. Who knew what cruelty and evil they had yet to face in this bitter life before death would eventually take them? Maybe Effen Alia alone…


	5. A vision of fire and blood

**5** **. A VISION OF FIRE AND BLOOD**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

As Merlin entered Effen Alia's chambers, he was greeted by angry shouting and the unmistakable sound of broken vessels. The Effen rarely made any display of fury, so he assumed that something serious must have happened. He saw Whiteflower sitting silent in a corner.

"Effen Alia? What's wrong?" he asked concerned.

"Everything is wrong!" she pointed angrily. "That idiot Pellemargaroth had the outstanding idea to challenge us!" As soon as she finished the sentence another vase found its end in pieces on the stone floor.

Merlin flinched. "Does he want you to fight him?"

She puffed. "That would have been easy! He's nothing but a stupid shit, he's no warrior! That's why he _doesn't_ want to fight!" she grumbled pacing back and forth around the room. "In fact, we don't even know _what_ he wants exactly, which means he has chosen to employ in the purpose of humiliating us. He just sent Master a note informing him where he wants us to meet him so that the challenge would be named, without any details. And Master said 'yes, whatever the challenge, it must be met'!"

"It could be a trap," Merlin observed.

" _Of course_ it could be a trap! He wants to meet us in the damn city, in a tavern full of filthy commoners!"

Merlin instantly hated the idea, the memories of recent events involving commoners still fresh in his mind, and Whiteflower seemed terrified in turn.

"But do we really have to go? Couldn't you advise Master against accepting Pellemargaroth's proposal in the absence of a clear claim?" he suggested.

"Merlin, I cannot offer Master any advice for which he did not ask and he is usually beyond any advising," Alia explained shaking her head.

"But you are his Effen!"

"Exactly, I am his _servant._ " She sighed. "At the end of the day we're all here to do his will. No matter how stupid and absurd it might be."

"What are your orders, Effen?" Whiteflower asked.

"The ogre Orlog is to be brought from the dungeons, he's coming with us. Also, three lycans for escort, I don't want us to be ambushed by commoners _again_. And get me a pretty dress."

* * *

 

The tavern was full. In their reserve, Effen Moro Pellemargaroth sat comfortably on a pile of velvet cushions and sipped casually from a cup of wine, glancing from time to time through the panel at the loud crowd of commoners gathered in the main hall. Nearby, his two lycans stood unmoved, clutching their halberds. Arthur also stood close to his seat, equally unaware and uninterested of his intentions. He was bored and longed for his Liquor, inclining towards the idea that it was far better to be required to fight than to be a mere object of display. He'd heard vague rumors that Effen Pellemargaroth was to meet a woman, which probably meant that he would seek to impress her. But the way in which he could personally be of assistance in the Effen's amorous pursuits was beyond him. Arthur was also somewhat displeased that due to this unexpected appointment he'd missed his dinner, but the foul smells of food coming from the kitchen were not only effective in cutting his appetite, they were positively disgusting him. Therefore, he had nothing but reasons to sulk, at least until Merlin entered the reserve, in the company of two of the most beautiful women Arthur had ever seen. Merlin was something, he though, unable to help rolling his eyes. One of them was the blonde girl that had come to congratulate him, a slave judging by her clothing - a simple silvery dress that had embroidered the same gargoyle crest that Merlin wore on his grey tunic. The other was a black eyed young woman, elegantly clad in a tight midnight blue silk gown that was generously revealing and with waist long raven black hair that fell in a cascade of carefully studied curls on her left shoulder. As much as he'd desired to remain consistent in his sulking, Arthur couldn't help admiring the curves of her luscious body as she walked.

Upon their entrance, Moro quickly stood from his pillows, with a majestic air, as he gathered his emerald green robes around his body.

"Alia, I was beginning to fear that Lord Galiel would fail to honor my Master's challenge," he said ironically.

"Your fear proves unjustified, Effen Moro," she replied boldly. "Here I am."

"Excellent! I knew that even if Galiel was to back away from my Master's demand, I could still count on the _infinite_ _ego_ of his most trusted Effen," he chuckled.

Effen Alia nodded and puffed almost imperceptibly. "Name your challenge then, we'll see it satisfied."

Pellemargaroth advanced and courteously took her hand in his. "All in due time, don't worry. Now, I believe that you have not met our champion…" He led her to where Arthur stood. "Behold Arthur the Red… come and have a closer look"

Arthur glanced down at her delicate figure as she stopped in front of him, looking straight into his eyes, with curiosity. Effen Moro, still maintaining a firm grasp on her hand, guided it to the prince's shoulder. He flinched inconspicuously as he felt her touch through the thin fabric of his shirt, his gaze immediately dropping to the floor.

"Observe the quality of the stuff," Pellemargaroth drawled, leading her hand down to the prince's torso. "The proud column of the neck, the broadness of the shoulders, the curve and firmness of the muscles…"

Arthur made serious efforts to conceal his growing embarrassment at being thus examined, like some beast of fine breed, and in front of _Merlin_ no less. But Merlin stood in a remote corner, together with the slave girl, both keeping their heads bowed. Effen Alia smiled and slowly removed her hand from Moro's just as he was trying to push it further down his champion's body.

"Fine stuff indeed," she appreciated.

"Impressed?" Pellemargaroth asked with a smug smile.

"A demonstration would impress me further…" she replied cunningly.

"Just what I had in mind in terms of the challenge. I trust you have brought your best with you, Effen Alia," he said obviously pleased. "Should you be so reckless as to call Galiel's latest scum 'your best'," Zoar's Effen mocked. "But there's more to the challenge - if you should lose, this 'best warrior' of the House of Galiel will be ours. What say you?"

"And what's my prize if I win?" Alia asked genuinely interested.

"If you win – as improbable as it may be – I'll let you… fuck Arthur," he laughed. "After all, you are a whore."

"The one that makes your day, no less," Alia replied with a hint of hidden amusement." As tempting as that may sound, if I win I'd rather fuck _you_ , Moro, by claiming your champion for our House," she added with a quick raise of eyebrows.

Pellemargaroth turned pale and his jaw clenched ever so slightly, as a sudden panic flickered across his face. But his overwhelming confidence won the argument against his sense of prudence. "Very well!" he said defiantly. "We have a deal."

"So be it."

Merlin fretted nervously. "But if he wanted a fight, why did he want us to come here? Shouldn't it have been settled in the Arena?" he asked Whiteflower.

"In the Arena it would have been official and one of them had to die. He could not make a claim to take our warrior," she explained whispering. "I think his plan was for us to lose our best, before making an official challenge, thus humiliating us further."

Arthur had anticipated that nothing good could result from his Effen's farfetched boasting and he was proven right when Effen Alia made a calling gesture and a huge ogre stepped inside the room. He swallowed hard and felt a cold shudder down his spine.

"Behold… Orlog – the best warrior of the House of Galiel."

Effen Alia then went to sit down on the velvet pillows, observing Pellemargaroth's reaction. But Zoar's servant betrayed nothing of his inner torment, maintaining his defiant countenance. He secretly cursed himself for not being able to find out about Galiel's ogre _before_ this, but it was too late to withdraw without bringing shame upon his Master's House.

"Make your choice of weapons, then," he invited. "Practice swords? Sharp blades? Halberds perhaps?"

"No weapons," Alia replied in a soft voice. "We wouldn't want to ruin the fine merchandise, would we?" she added picking a strawberry from Pellemargaroth's tray and seductively taking a bite.

Effen Moro's gaze narrowed and he pressed his lips tightly, in extreme frustration. Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement.

"Proceed!" he ordered.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, terrified as the ogre charged with a growl and Arthur took a defense position. When he eventually opened them, Orlog stood motionless, with a rather inane look, while his prince was fallen on the floor unconscious, blood gushing from his broken nose. He gasped. Pellemargaroth began to kick Arthur's ribs with his boot viciously.

"Get up, you useless prick! Get up and fight!" he shouted, still refusing to accept the obvious.

"Stop it!" Merlin jumped and reached forward, grabbing him by the throat "He's ours now and if you hit him you're insulting the House of Galiel!" Effen Moro raised his hand to strike him, but the ogre drew closer and he reconsidered.

"You cannot take him, he belongs to Zoar!" he yelled desperately. "You'll have him over my dead body!"

"That can be arranged – trust me, I have no problem slaughtering you and your servants in the back of a tavern, after all I am a _whore_ and a _bastard,_ " Effen Alia said calmly, standing. "Look, why can't you just accept that you stroke a bad deal?" she added innocently.

"You filthy whore! Your purpose is clear – you want him for yourself, not for that impotent idiot Galiel! That's why you pulled out this little trick – no weapons – that was the dirtiest fight I've ever seen, you knew he had no chance against your disgusting beast! Lord Zoar will hear of this and his wrath will be terrible! You have been warned!" Effen Moro Pellemargaroth shouted and threatened, before he stormed out of the reserve, followed by his lycans.

Alia observed his furious outburst in a calm silence and did not bother to reply to any of his insults and insinuations. She then turned to her own servants. "Pick up our new warrior and let's get the hell out of this place before the stench kills us all…"

* * *

 

Merlin was secretly beaming as he worked on a list of guests for one of Lord Galiel's numerous feasts. Now he could go and visit Arthur in the dungeons anytime and make sure he was properly cared for and _sort of_ safe – at least until his next fight. He was happy even despite the fact that he'd managed to strike an argument with the prince on the subject of Liquor, on which Arthur indulged often and abundantly. Unfortunately, all his shouting - and ultimately - pleading had been fruitless, and the prince had ended the conversation by forcing the contents of a full goblet down Merlin's throat and laughing as his former manservant had stumbled away extremely dizzy. Merlin smiled and shook his head recalling the episode. After all, Arthur was Arthur, the prat that never listened to him.

Nearby, Effen Alia was sitting at her desk, positively buried in a huge pile of papers and she leafed through them, occasionally jotting down various notes.

"I never thought that a man of Master's age would favor feasts to such an extent," Merlin commented.

"Men of Master's age often favor young wives and young wives desire to be entertained. And while I acknowledge and respect Master for he is many things, entertaining is not one of them…" Alia explained bored.

Right then, Whiteflower walked in the room hurriedly. "Effen Alia, a message from Master!"she spoke breathing hard from the run.

"Well?"

"It seems that Effen Pellemargaroth has fallen prey to his master's wrath for losing Arthur the Red. Apparently he didn't have Lord Zoar's permission for the deal he made, so he's been enslaved and will take Arthur's place in the Arena, as warrior of their House."

Alia pondered for a moment. "And I feel that's not good news because…?"

"Because he will fight against us! He seeks to restore at least some of his House's honor by ensuring that our profit from the unfortunate wager is reduced to nil."

"He wants to kill Arthur," Alia concluded and sighed, tossing away her papers.

"But that's absurd!" Merlin cut in. "Moro Pellemargaroth is no warrior! He's not up for a fight, not for a fight with Arthur, at least."

"He's not up for a _fair_ fight," She grimaced. "There are no rules in the Arena, one can basically pull whatever stunt they think might work and Pellemargaroth has always been resourceful." She glanced up at Whiteflower. "I suppose Master has accepted this challenge as well…"

The girl nodded.

"When?"

"In two days."

* * *

 

"Merlin, have you done what I asked?"

"Yes Effen. I have paid coin for information on Pellemargaroth and his men," Merlin replied warily.

"Men? What men? He has no other warriors," Alia said suspicious.

"He must have purchased them recently, Effen. At any rate, he is not fighting alone. He's got one 'regular' lycan, yet it's not the kind that everyone has as guards, and another lycan that's absolutely huge," the young warlock explained.

"And what of their weapons?" Jarblack wanted to know.

"Moro's fighting with a sword, the smaller lycan with a sword and a mace and the big one with a battle axe and a hammer," Merlin recited in one breath.

"I'll choose two other men to fight beside Arthur, at least to have equal numbers. The ogre is too much and too precious, the Master does not want him in this fight," he stated.

"Excellent – the only problem being that the other men are complete crap!" Alia replied.

"At least we know not to send him out there alone" Merlin hoped.

"No, not alone… Just as good as!"

"Effen, it's time." a servant announced.

"Gear them up." she ordered.

As agreed, Jarblack chose two other men whom he thought sort of capable and they joined Arthur in the dungeons halls . The servants clad them in mail shirts and leather breastplates and brought them long swords and heavy iron shields. The blood bowl was then presented and the incantation recited, and then Galiel's warriors walked upon the sands. The crowd welcomed Arthur the Red enthusiastically.

"At least they cheer for us. Hasn't happened in a while…" Jarblack observed.

"I didn't think Lord Zoar would get so worked up over Arthur," Merlin said, as he joined the two Effens where they stood by the iron gate.

"He's worked up over Arthur _now_. But we've had problems with the House of Zoar and their servants for years," Alia replied. "Pellemargaroth is just one of them. Well, the worst."

Effen Moro gave the signal and his lycans attacked. Arthur's companions hurried to charge in turn, with ferocious growls. Soon they managed to bring down the smaller lycan and all three warriors of the House of Galiel closed in to encircle the big one. They went around him back and forth, but the monster moved quickly, and his hammer and long axe kept them at bay. Moro kept himself at a safe distance from the fighters, merely watching and giving directions.

"That shit Pellemargaroth is not even fighting!" Jarblack roared. "Why is he there at all then?"

Alia did not answer, she simply stood by the gate with her arms crossed, sulking. At her side, Merlin was beyond worried and made considerable efforts not to voice it.

Suddenly, the hammer flickered in the sun and went down to strike one of the other men, while his shield was down, and he collapsed under the blow. Arthur managed to thrust his sword into the hip of the massive lycan, just as his axe cracked the skull of the other man. The audience roared as the sand reddened with fresh blood. The lycan let out a furious growl as he turned to face Arthur. His hammer slammed forcefully against the prince's shield and Arthur fell down on his back. The lycan raised both his weapons to crush him, but Arthur rolled over and jumped to his feet, gaining an unexpected advantage in the short moment in which the monster was still bent forward, and used all his strength for a blow that severed the lycan's head.

Pellemargaroth cursed and moved forward, getting a better grip on his shield and balancing the sword in his hand. Merlin glanced at Alia and her concerned expression worried him even more, if that was possible. Arthur was panting heavily, it was clear that he was exhausted and not able to carry on much longer.

Effen Moro showed a surprising and suspicious ability for someone not used to fighting. He charged with swift moves, blocking his opponent's strikes and eventually succeeded in thrusting the tip of his sword into Arthur's ribs. The prince stumbled back, moaning and clutching his side. Merlin gasped and gripped the iron bars, squeezing until his knuckles went white.

A servant came and whispered something into Jarblack's ear.

"Message from Master!" the giant announced. "It seems that Zoar has proceeded to further offence, so the orders are to challenge Pellemargaroth on the spot if our fighter falls."

"Arthur will not fall!" Merlin snapped, blinking back his tears.

"The shit's got something up his sleeve, that's obvious, look at the way he moves – it must be magic" Jarblack retorted.

"But magic doesn't work in Underworld!"

"Not yours maybe," the giant replied rolling his eyes, leaving Merlin utterly dumbstruck.

Alia advanced and stopped just past the gate, fixing Zoar's servant with a gloomy countenance. Pellemargaroth noticed her and grinned. Under her scrutinizing gaze, he became hurried and reckless. He tossed his shield aside and went close for a full thrust, but Arthur's oiled armor diverted his sword this time and instead the prince seized the opportunity and ran him through with all his remaining strength. His lifeless body fell down on the sand and the crowd roared wildly. Arthur took a few more steps before dropping both his sword and his shield and collapsing on the ground, face down.

"Arthur, no!" Merlin cried, running to where his prince had fallen, followed by other two servants.

They carried him back to the dungeons and removed his armor and mail shirt. The prince had fever and was barely breathing. There was a deep cut on his side and all around the wound the flesh had blackened.

"Venom," Jarblack observed. "Send for the physician."

"There's no time for that!" Alia cut in. "The wound must be burnt or the venom will spread throughout his entire body and kill him!"

Merlin pulled out his dagger and heated it in the blaze of the nearest torch, almost burning his fingers. When he pulled it out, the metal was almost red.

"Let me," Alia said gently, taking the knife from Merlin's trembling hand, and kneeled beside Arthur's bed.

"Do you need us to hold him, Effen?" a servant asked.

"No, he's too weak already. Bring me some mint draught, I'll need it afterwards."

Arthur was fading. He felt life slipping away from him and in his agony he found himself surrounded by flames. They had encircled him, eager to consume his flesh, and beside him was none other than Morgana, holding a heated knife in her ready hand.

"Morgana…" he whispered, almost begging, but the witch grinned and thrust the reddened knife into his open wound. The pain ripped through him, mind blowing, and he screamed.

"NO! NO, Morgana, stop! Stop, please! You can… I'll give you everything you want!" he begged desperately, unable to even think anymore. "You can have Camelot! You can have everything you want, just stop! Morgana, please!"

Eventually, the infernal knife was withdrawn from his body and he felt a cool liquid being poured into his wound, rapidly soothing the searing pain. He opened his eyes widely. The flames he'd been seeing faded into the cool darkness of the dungeons and he realized that the brunette woman by his side was not Morgana. He struggled to remember who she was and where he was, but the effort exhausted him further. The woman placed a delicate hand on his sweaty forehead, briefly brushing away a few strands of hair.

"His fever has subsided" Alia said to Merlin. "He needs a lot of rest, but he'll be alright"

"Oh thank God!" Merlin whispered.

Arthur was quite dizzy, yet he sat up and grabbed the woman's wrists, pulling her closer. He stared at her, blinking sleepily.

"Who are you?"

She smiled briefly and pulled away from his grasp, pushing him back on the bed gently. "You need to sleep."

* * *

 

Merlin had remained by Arthur's side as he slept, to make sure he would pass the night uneventful. But the day's events had drained him too and soon he drifted off to sleep himself, in a corner. Not long after however, he suddenly woke up with a strange feeling and saw the prince standing in front of his table. There was blood on his hands, no doubt from the bowl of blood that had been left there for luck.

"Morgana…" Arthur said, his whisper a strange mixture of irony, tenderness and sheer cruelty, as the blood dripped from his fingers.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked drawing closer, but the prince could not hear him. Arthur was in a trance. All around him, he could see nothing but flames. Camelot was burning in the fires that Morgana had set rather than to surrender. But there was the witch, before him, pleading for mercy. One he could not give, as she was already impaled on his sword, and the blood gushing from her wound poured on his hands. _My tears in your blood_ he thought bitterly.

"Arthur, you should rest," Merlin insisted, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.


	6. Sharp and wicked

**6** **. SHARP AND WICKED**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

It was almost midnight when Effen Alia of the Blade walked into the training area of the Arena. The large stone paved hall was only lit by a few torches, which sent flickering shadows on the weapons panels hung on its walls. Effen Jarblack the Hammer threw her a disapproving look for being late. Master had requested better results so, despite the hour, he was still working hard training the new warrior slaves.

"I'm sorry, Master needed me at the castle until now," she explained.

"Well now you can replace me altogether, I've been here since noon," he said weary, dropping his massive shield on the floor and wiping the sweat off his brow. "And it's been long since I had your young years."

Alia smiled. "I know, Jar," she said patting his arm briefly. "Make pairs and continue practicing, I'll be watching you," she ordered the slaves, throwing them an overall glance. Then she sighed. Apart from the ogre Orlog, all of them were human and quite pathetic looking.

She spotted Arthur in a corner, doing some warm-up moves with a long sword. He moved somewhat slow and with caution and Alia guessed that the recent wound still caused him discomfort. While the venom had been burned out before it could kill him, she knew that it would still take some time until he was fully healed, even if he'd turned out to be stronger than she'd expected. The prince was so concentrated with his sparring that he did not notice her approaching, not until she stood behind him and pulled his shoulders back, straightening him. He flinched in surprise and almost dropped his sword, as he half turned to her.

"I am in the habit of getting a feeling of our warriors before they walk upon the sands," the brunette explained in a soft voice, keeping her delicate but firm hands still on his shoulders. "But Pellemargaroth's challenge came in such a short notice that I did not have the time with you before."

Arthur could not refrain from examining the young Effen with curiosity. She looked much different than the first time he'd seen her. The elegant and daring gown had been replaced by a simple leather dress over a rough black knee-length tunic and boots, and her long raven black hair was tied in simple ponytail. Despite the manly clothes, she still had an alluring air that came from the calm, natural flow of her movements.

"I can feel," she said. "That you are impulsive, rebel, and untamed," She reached down to close her fingers around the wrist of his right hand, and directed his arm for some basic moves, ever so gently.

"I am what?" Arthur asked with a hint of amusement, glancing down at her. She wasn't quite petite, but he still towered over her.

"And you are still in pain," she continued. "Don't strain yourself too hard just yet, wounds such as yours are treacherous. The venom has not yet left the flesh entirely."

"Yes, Effen," he nodded, still intrigued.

"Merlin is worried about you," Alia said after a short pause, stepping in front of him.

"Oh, well, Merlin is always worried for some reason," Arthur replied briefly rolling his eyes. "It's the Liquor, isn't it? He thinks I'm drinking too much."

"Actually, he is more concerned about something that you said when you were wounded," she explained in the same soft tone.

The prince gave her a suspicious look. "What did I say? I don't remember anything…"

"Well, you spoke about someone named Morgana… and about something called Camelot. I think that because of the pain you were under the impression that this Morgana was torturing you, you kept begging her to stop, and you promised you would give her anything, even Camelot…"

Arthur instantly snapped at her words. "I did NOT say that!" he nearly shouted. But he quickly reconsidered his attitude and his anger melted down into a sigh. He shook his head. "Merlin thinks that I must have lost my mind, doesn't he?"

"That's what he'd have me think probably, but no. Tell me, Arthur, are you aware of what they say about the Liquor? That it can give you visions of the future?" she asked watching him intently.

"Visions?" He snorted with a disbelieving frown. "I… find it hard to believe. I think it just gets you drunk."

"That it does," Alia agreed. "The thing is that at some point I happened to make such a prediction – to Merlin – and it came true recently," She paused for a moment, as to gather her thoughts. "It was something rather serious - I told him he would kill someone. I can tell that he's affected by it."

"Merlin, kill someone?" Arthur asked surprised.

"He and Whiteflower were ambushed by commoners in the Arena. He was just protecting her," Alia explained.

The prince nodded. "At least it's good to hear that Merlin is finally able to look after himself," he said with a brief smile.

"Anyway, he thinks that you had a vision that night. He fears it might be something terrible that will come true," she said as a matter-of-fact, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her eyes shone mysteriously in the semi-obscurity and made Arthur feel slightly unsettled. He took a deep breath.

"Not if it's already happened," he replied shaking his head. "By the way, Morgana is my sister and Camelot is… _was_ my father's kingdom. But my father is dead and she's already taken it from me; she sent me and Merlin down here as slaves to be rid of us once and for all…"

"Well in this case I guess it wasn't a vision after all. I mean it's not very likely to have been…" Alia concluded. "You should tell Merlin that he has nothing to worry about. He is a good servant and you are a good warrior, I don't want you two to trouble yourselves unnecessarily. As for the Liquor, you can drink as much as you like, at the end of the day it does have its undeniable uses…" she added smiling again, before turning and proceeding to examine the weapons panel that hung above her thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Effen," Arthur said. "Kind and wise words from someone said to be as sharp and wicked as you," he added after a moment. He instantly kicked himself inwardly for uttering such challenging words, aware that it wasn't a good idea, but the beautiful brunette intrigued him and he just felt that he had to know more about her.

"Sharp and wicked?" she asked, turning suddenly and propping the tip of a curved sword she's picked from the panel under his chin. There was a clear glint of amusement in her eyes.

"I've seen you fight. In the Arena, a year ago. Against Olverd Whitehair," Arthur said gulping involuntarily as he felt the cold metal against his skin.

"Aha," she nodded taking a step forward, while the prince took one back, pushing her blade away with his own sword.

"That's why I'm saying you are sharp… You are an exquisite swordsman… Swordswoman."

"And why would you say that I'm wicked?" she wanted to know, apparently ignoring his compliment and pointing the sword at him once more.

"I…"

"That must come from Pellemargaroth, no doubt. He must have told you a lot of that," Alia guessed, raising her eyebrows. "Enlighten me, what did he have to say about me?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "He said that you are the daughter of a king… Menumorut of Wabe. And that he was quite terrible…"

"That's true, and I am his bastard. One of many, I've heard. Anything else? Something _really_ wicked?"

"That you are… not to be trusted," the prince added, hesitantly.

"Also true, when it comes to the wrong person," she agreed. "Also, I swear worse than most men, I am an _exquisite_ liar and deceiver, I am cruel and merciless, vicious and depraved, extremely rude, and I would do anything to reach my purposes. Does the detailed description satisfy you, _my lord_? Anything else you'd like to know?"

Alia was calm and her voice, sounding almost innocent, had remained just as soft as ever, with no hint of mockery or anger. Arthur was beyond embarrassed and annoyed that she'd discovered his intention and he cursed his impulsiveness and lack of subtlety. She'd read him like an open book.

"You don't look the part," he replied in disbelief.

She finally lowered her sword and gave him a once over. "You don't look the part either."

"I don't look like what?" he asked frowning.

"Like a prince. Trust me, I've seen plenty of princes - most of them are stupid, very few of them are young and all of them are very ugly. I believe that they're seriously overrated. That being said, consider your current title as a welcomed advancement," Alia said, patting him on the shoulder briefly, and she walked away.

* * *

 

The castle halls were almost freezing and Merlin cursed the approaching winter in earnest, as he walked as fast as he could down the corridor. He was sure that in the 'outside' world there was still a pleasant, somewhat warm autumn, while down here one could already feel a protruding, moist cold. He hurried towards Effen Alia's chambers and once inside he was quick to close the door after him. He scurried to the fireplace and threw another log into the dwindling flames. Noticing that she wasn't there, the young warlock took his time in front of the fire, rubbing his hands and then stretching his arms towards the hot glow.

"Merlin?" Whiteflower asked, startling him. He hadn't seen her where she sat in the corner of a low sofa, mending a thick woolen dress. "Have you heard what happened?"

"No. Why, is there something wrong?" he turned to ask, worried. It was clear that he could not have a day's peace in his new job. Not that his previous one had been much different.

"Master is holding council with the wives and the Effens. It must be serious. I was wondering if you've heard-"She was interrupted when Alia entered the room and quickly slammed the door behind her, trembling.

"It's so damn cold and it's not even winter yet," she muttered, wrapping the fur vest tighter around her body and curling on the sofa next to the slave girl. "Be informed that the reason of Lord Zoar's long time enmity towards the House of Galiel was finally revealed," she said dryly.

"Mistress Nevis? It's true then that she fled the castle last night to go to him?" Whiteflower asked intrigued.

"It turned out that Lord Zoar has been in love with Mistress Nevis for many years. She reciprocates, apparently, to such an extent that she decided to leave Master to be with him," Alia explained. "I can't say that I'm terribly surprised, after all I can quite see the angle here - she is young, Zoar is sort of younger than Master, he is a widower and he _has a son_. Proof that she can have too, with him, while being the only wife, at least for a while."

"But can she leave Master just like that, and become Zoar's wife?" Merlin wondered puzzled.

"No, she can't be his wife until Master is dead," Whiteflower replied. "They'll have to… wait I guess."

"Or try to see it done sooner," Alia stated, eventually leaving the sofa and joining Merlin in front of the fireplace.

"Speaking of seeing things done, Merlin, I went to see Arthur earlier in the training hall. He looks quite fine, he's already started practice again," she said rubbing her hands. "And I asked him about that night. He could hardly remember a thing or two about the supposed vision, but he said that it's nothing that has not happened already. Just like I thought, it was no vision, just agony, most likely the venom and the fever were speaking for him."

Merlin stared into the flames thoughtful. "Like you said, maybe he doesn't remember… But it was just so weird, the way he whispered Morgana's name, it gave me the creeps. It did not sound like him at all, it frightened me, it was almost like it wasn't Arthur talking," he said preoccupied.

Alia placed a hand on his shoulder. "Merlin, thoughts of the past and of the outside world need not worry you anymore. What's done is done. Arthur may be haunted by it still, as are you, I can tell, but it doesn't necessarily mean that something will happen in this respect. And it's not like there isn't plenty of shit to concern us down here."

* * *

 

"Thank you," the man whispered, slipping several golden coins into the lycan's hand. The beast grunted in acknowledgement as he unlocked the door of Arthur's cell for him. The prince was sat on his bed and lifted his head with an inquisitive stare as the man walked in, wrapping his cloak tightly around his body.

"Quite cold, isn't it?" the newcomer began. "They barely make any fires down here, they must think that this freezing cold makes us stronger."

Arthur observed the man in silence, with a prudent and quizzical glance. He was slender and not very tall, long haired, with a dark complexion and a cunning countenance, hardly looking like the warriors that were usually to be found in the dungeons. He had a suspicious air about him and looked somehow familiar. The prince wondered if he hadn't by any chance seen him before, yet he could not recall such an event.

"My name is Nolgen," the stranger finally decided to introduce himself. "It is an honor for me to stand before you, Arthur the Red," he added ceremoniously, bowing his head in respect. "I am newly bought for the House of Galiel and I've just arrived here yesterday. I have to say that I found it unfortunate not to be able to make your acquaintance sooner, while you still served Lord Zoar. Your victories in the Arena have brought my Master glory beyond any imagination!"

"Did you also belong to the House of Zoar before? Did you serve the Lord?" Arthur asked surprised.

Although uninvited, the man took the liberty to step forward and sat beside Arthur on his bed.

"I serve him still…" he whispered mysteriously, casting a worried glance towards the door."I only wish to be able to bring the purpose that he has entrusted me with to fulfillment"

Arthur sat up abruptly and distanced himself from the man, eyeing his fastened cloak with suspicion. "And what purpose is that?" he asked in a harsh tone. The man sat up in turn, only to throw himself on his knees in front of the prince.

"My lord, fear not, I beg you! I am but your humble servant!" he said eagerly, but still keeping his voice down. Noticing Arthur's puzzlement he continued "I know who you are, Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, and so does my Master. That's why the honor bestowed upon our House by your victories in our name is that much greater. Master wishes to show gratitude…"

"The prince of Camelot is dead" Arthur replied determined, narrowing his gaze."What do you want from me? Speak or I'll call the guards!"

"Master offers you a way out of here, in return for a small favor… " Nolgen drawled. "Galiel visits his warrior slaves here in the dungeons, every month on the day before the full moon, to share a cup of wine with them for luck and fortune. On that day we shall be unhindered, the guards will pay but little attention and it will be the right time to strike down the accursed Lord Galiel once and for all. I shall of course set myself to the purpose, but the wretched lord always has his Effens by his side, and I am no match for them. You alone can bring them down, my prince…"

"WHAT? Your Master takes me for an _assassin_?" Arthur snapped, almost shouting.

The man rummaged beneath the folds of his cloak and produced a small bronze coin bearing the crest of Zoar's eagle. He held out his palm, letting the coin shine in the light of the torches.

"A sign that Master is true to his word. All you have to do is thrust a blade in the body of a Lord, taking his life, and by the sacred laws you shall have your freedom. Once you will no longer be a slave, with this token you shall have safe passage past the gates of the Underworld and you will be able to return home, to Camelot," Nolgen explained hurriedly. "Is that not truly your heart's desire, my lord?"

Arthur's hand reached forward almost without his will, picking the coin from the man's hand, and he began to examine it curiously, flipping it back and forth between his fingers.

"You need not give an answer right now, my lord," Nolgen added. "I trust that when the moment comes, you will make the right decision, the one that will benefit us all, and you shall support me in my attempt. Both Master and I have all confidence that it will be so." He also produced a small dagger from his belt and he carefully placed it into the prince's hand. Then, with another ceremonious bow, he took his leave and stepped out of the cell.

Arthur remained lost in thought long after Nolgen had left, pondering on how unexpected the opportunity of an escape had presented itself. He found it hard to trust the token that he had suddenly come to posses, as well as Zoar's promise, but the worst that could happen to him in result of a failed attempt was nothing more than death, and death was to be his fate eventually either way. In the past year, the prince had learned the hard way to care but little about himself, but he thought of Merlin - maybe he could take the boy with him and maybe there was a chance he could put an end to his nightmare and to his hopelessness. He weighted the bronze coin in his palm, wondering if this wasn't _his time_ for being sharp and wicked, then carefully placed it inside his belt, next to the dagger.


	7. The silver chain

**7\. THE SILVER CHAIN**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

"Where's Arthur? I thought he didn't have practice today," Merlin asked the lycan, casting a casual glance into Arthur's cell as he dropped the extra blanket he'd brought on the bed.

"He's gone out to see the fights, you'll find him at the gate."

"Oh… Is there any important fight today?"

The guard shrugged.

Merlin walked up to the iron gates that led to the sands, as usual doing his best to ignore the atmosphere of the Arena - the deafening noise of the crowd, the clinging of weapons and the almost inconspicuous yet pervasive scent of death, which appalled and disgusted him profoundly. There he found Arthur in the unexpected company of Orlog. The prince was leaning against the iron bars with a goblet in his hand, while the ogre feasted on an enormous piece of raw meat, but they both seemed extremely focused on the action before their eyes.

"I had no idea that you liked to watch the fights…" Merlin began, as he stood next to Arthur, with his back turned on the gore spectacle.

"And what would _you_ have me do, Merlin? I was bored out of my mind!" Arthur muttered bluntly. "Besides, I'd better know what awaits me, _get_ _a_ _feel_ of the other warriors before actually having to face them"

Merlin knew Arthur well enough to realize that while the prince was playing the boredom card, he was in fact preoccupied with something and he was just trying to get his mind out of it - with the sight of iron and blood and the taste of Liquor.

"Do you have a match coming?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head, without tearing his gaze from the Arena. "None before the end of the month. Master wants everyone to be better prepared before any of us will compete again. At least that's what Effen Alia said."

"Then what is it? I know you, Arthur. There is something bothering you," Merlin pressed.

"You know what, Merlin? It's amazing how well everyone knows me these days!" Arthur exclaimed. "Alia thinks that I am 'impulsive, rebel and untamed', in other words a savage, and now _you_ can read my mind!"

"Is that what she said?" Merlin asked amused. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Tell me, Merlin, what do you think about the Underworld?" the prince asked suddenly, shifting his gaze onto him.

The young warlock returned the stare quite puzzled. "I think it's an awful place! Why would you ask me such a thing? Not that it couldn't have been worse…but still, why would you even want to talk about it?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, giving him a questioning glance.

"I mean I did meet some good people here, who have helped me and I've grown to care about…" Merlin continued, blushing slightly. "But my heart belongs to Camelot. And my destiny, I believe. _Our_ destiny!"

"Merlin, I can't believe that you're still clinging to this bullshit!" Arthur retorted somewhat angrily. "Honestly, haven't you had enough of _destiny_ by now? What part of 'we're completely screwed' don't you understand?"

Merlin was a bit shocked – he'd never heard Arthur swear, at least before he didn't use to. One more thing he would now have to accept and ignore.

"I won't give up hope that someday… we'll go back to Camelot," he insisted, stubborn. "All our friends are there, I would do anything to see them again and be able to do something to help them. Can you imagine how they must be feeling?"

"Yes I can, Merlin! But Camelot is lost. Our friends are defeated. We have failed them. _I_ have failed them. There's nothing left for us in the 'outside' world! At least down here we don't have to face anybody…" Arthur muttered and he turned his back on Merlin, walking away.

Merlin hung his head, feeling that he'd just twisted the knife into the wound they both shared, _that_ wound which would never heal. He wished he'd never said those words, even if Arthur had for some unknown reason asked the question, honestly fearing that the prince might now start to avoid him. Arthur was instinctively a fighter and a survivor, and surviving required some degree of adaptation. He could see that it had taken Arthur a lot of swallowing his pride recently and it was clear that the last thing he needed now was lamentation, when he only sought solace and help in accepting and enduring – in Liquor and blood. Yes, Merlin thought, Underworld was a place where everyone came to drown their disgraces and sorrows in filthy pleasures, soiling their souls to no end – it was a place of doom – and the most terrible and heartbreaking thing was that Arthur had gotten to believe that he deserved to be here.

Arthur's hand reached to his belt involuntarily as he walked back to his cell, fingering the bronze coin. He could almost feel it burning his fingertips. In truth, Merlin had no idea what he was asking of him. Still, he would not tell the boy the truth about his dilemma. It was bad enough that Merlin had been enslaved down here with him, and above all _because_ of him. It burdened and grieved him to no end to know that he was the reason why Merlin's fate had been so cruelly sealed. And there was but little time until he had to make up his mind.

* * *

 

"Merlin, today you will be escorting Master to the dungeons, for the celebrations of the full moon. He will share a cup of wine with all his warriors so that the Gods bring luck and fortune to the House of Galiel. It's a very important day" Effen Alia said as she fastened her cloak.

"Aren't you coming, Effen Alia?"

"No, Whiteflower and I will be going with the Mistresses at the Temple. Besides, I couldn't possibly come, only men are allowed, it's something… I don't know, for warriors only," she explained.

"But you are a warrior!" Merlin stated surprised. "You are Master's best warrior!"

"That does not change the fact that I am a woman and therefore not allowed to participate. But no matter, the Mistresses are pretty much just as boring as Master, so rest assured that even if we shall not get bored together, we will all be bored nevertheless," she said rolling her eyes. "Oh, and Merlin, just try to make sure that no calamity happens in my absence, Master has an incredible 'luck' when it comes to that."

"I will, Effen Alia," he agreed with a bow.

"See you at dinner, Merlin," Whiteflower added and the girls left him.

Lord Galiel had assembled all his male servants and the procession started on foot through the tunnel that led to the Arena. Merlin joined Effen Jarblack as they walked at a slow pace, since Master was old and could not move very fast. It took quite a while but when they eventually arrived, all the preparations had been made in the dungeons. It was not every day that a lord chose to walk in the dark, cold stone halls beneath the Arena, which were destined only to Underworld's _beasts_ , as all warriors were often referred to.

"Today is a day of great importance," Galiel began the speech which he had prepared - to praise the Gods of the Underworld, the sacred art of war and its humble practicing servants, his warrior slaves, and last but not least himself.

Merlin had a bad feeling. It was deep in his gut, vague but persistent, even if he could not quite name the cause. Maybe it was just too quiet and he wasn't used to that, maybe Arthur happened to have a particularly gloomy countenance that had not escaped his acute sense of observation. The restless magic inside, which never really ceased to torment him, warned him that something wrong was about to happen, something which he would most likely be helpless about. The young warlock briefly wondered whether Alia had not 'seen' something about this day, something that she had prudently decided to keep to herself, but that had still made her recommend caution from his part.

Nolgen watched focused as Lord Galiel finished his speech and moved to perform the ritual of the cup. His hand went down unnoticed towards his belt and the blade was transferred with a swift and inconspicuous move inside his sleeve. His agile fingers grasped the handle firmly as he moved to position himself right behind Arthur.

"It's time, my lord," he whispered into the prince's ear. "He stepped away from his guards now, only Jarblack stands in our way. You must take him down."

Arthur said nothing, his gaze fixed on the intended victims. Only Effen Jarblack, at least _she_ wasn't here. He could never bring himself to hurt a woman, not _her_ at any rate. Jarblack was big and strong, yet with the proper advantage of surprise he could kill him. He knew it. His combat trained eyes rapidly scrutinized his opponent - the Effen wore a breastplate, but his neck was exposed, vulnerable. All that was needed was one single, precise thrust of his blade, he pondered. Galiel was no more than a helpless old man, looking rather pitiful, but still… still…his death held the key to their freedom. His gaze trailed over to Merlin, but the young warlock looked so tired, so weary, burdened with worries which he knew were mostly about him, that the sight made his heart sink. His fist closed around the bare blade of his dagger instead of the handle, and the pain it caused as it cut into his palm was almost a blessing in the midst of his inner torment.

Then Nolgen sprang forward, quick and agile like a feline, with his dagger pointed forward. Surprised at the sight of the advancing attacker, Galiel stumbled back and nearly fell, dropping his cup, while Jarblack failed to react altogether. Zoar's servant raised his blade to strike and would have dealt a deadly blow right under the gaze of Galiel's dumbstruck servants, if Arthur's suddenly determined grip hadn't twisted his arm, and then had pushed him down on the side. Nolgen dropped the knife as he tumbled on the floor with an utterly shocked expression plastered on his features and quickly fell prey to the lycans' halberds.

"Lord Zoar curses you and your house for a thousand years!" he managed to yell before Galiel's guards finished him off.

Galiel was in shock and it took a while before the old man could gather himself to speak.

"What is the meaning of this?" he finally questioned angrily, pointing a skinny finger in Arthur's direction.

"This man was Zoar's servant, sent to murder you and the lord has promised me freedom in exchange for aiding to your death," the prince spoke in a surprisingly clear, unshaken voice, kneeling and placing both his own dagger and Zoar's coin at Galiel's feet. "I am guilty of having kept the silence on this plot, therefore I now place my fate in your hands, Master. Do with me what you will…"

"You useless IDIOTS!" the lord burst at last. "That filthy shit Zoar plots to have me killed and you have no clue about what's going on under your noses! Who am I to trust then, you incompetent fools? Am I not safe among my own men?" he shouted. To his further annoyance, none of his servants had any reply, but at least no one was stupid enough to try any excuse.

"What shall we do with him, Master?" one of the lycans asked, motioning towards Arthur.

"Confine him! I shall pass judgment tonight," Galiel ordered.

* * *

 

Merlin's vision was almost blurred as he rode wildly against the wind and the rain. The mail shirt and the iron breastplate burdened him, and the heavy sword pulled his arm down, yet he felt no weight and no cold. He just felt incredibly confident, despite the enormous army that lay unfolded before his eyes, because his prince rode by his side, and behind them an equally large army came pouring, wildly shouting the name of Arthur the Red. The vision only lasted for a few moments, but it felt so incredibly real that it left him trembling with the sheer excitement and adrenaline.

"Merlin! Merlin! Wake up! Wake up, please!"

He slowly opened his eyes to see Whiteflower's concerned face above him and her hands gripping his shoulders as she shook him vigorously.

"Oh, thank God!" she cried. "I was so scared! You have been lying here unconscious for hours! I feared that you were going to die! That I would lose you…"

She quickly stooped and kissed him square on the lips, without hesitation, as she held him tightly in her arms.

"Wha-what happened?" the young warlock asked, blushing visibly.

"Galiel's servants brought you like this from the dungeons. They said you passed out when they took Arthur away, after he tried to kill Master…"the girl explained. "Oh Merlin, is it true? Was he really going to kill Master?" she then asked preoccupied.

Then Merlin remembered too, even if he still could not believe it - Arthur had been involved in a plot meant to end Galiel's life, in exchange for a promise of freedom. It must have been his honor that had eventually stayed his hand and had made him save the lord's life, but the temptation had been there, he'd willingly confessed it. Merlin recalled their conversation from earlier and suddenly guilt overwhelmed him. If only he hadn't been so insistent on the hope of returning to Camelot, his prince would not be now facing judgment for attempted murder. The thought broke his heart.

"Anyway, we were summoned to the Great Hall, Master will pass judgment," Whiteflower interrupted his musings. "We must go. Thank God you're alright!"

All the servants and slaves of Galiel's House were present in the Great Hall, everyone except for the lord's wives. Merlin stood beside Alia and Whiteflower, expecting the worst. His heart only increased its pounding as two lycans dragged Arthur in. The prince looked seriously beaten and bruised and the guards forced him down on his knees in front of the lord's chair, pushing his back so low that his forehead almost touched the floor. When he tried to lift his head even a little bit, one of the lycans pressed the blade of his halberd into the back of his neck, growling at him to stay down.

The lord sat in his chair, looking more grieved now that his outburst of anger had worn out. He just looked old and tired. He took his time while everyone settled in the Hall before he stood up slowly and spoke:

"I have summoned you here tonight so that you bear witness to what I now state," he began weary. "You all know that I have always treated my wives with kindness and affection. In my House they have always been respected and honored, as suitable to their rank. I have given them everything that they ever wanted… at least as much as it was in my power to. I toiled towards nothing but their happiness, without ever asking anything in return. I have never hoped for their love, as I am old and they are still young, but I did hope for at least some benevolence to be bestowed upon me. It has thus much grieved me to see how they chose to repay all that I have done for them, by means of the most cruel betrayal. As you may have noticed, none of my wives is among us tonight. The reason for this is that I have come to discover that not only has Nevis chosen to abandon me and attempt to take my life, with the complicity of the accursed lord Zoar, but that both Allenis and Chandra have supported her in her faulty decisions. As such, I have decided to repudiate them. From this day forward, they are no longer your Mistresses, and you shall not serve them anymore. Anyone who chooses to disobey my order for reasons of personal loyalty will do so at their own peril. This being said, they can no longer remain under my roof. My Effens will see that they are sent back to their families."

The lord made a pause, probably to assess the reaction of those present, but the slaves listened in silence, showing no emotion, while the Effens merely nodded in acknowledgement of his orders.

"As for what happened today in the dungeons," he continued "I realized that I am to rely on the questionable loyalty of my warrior slaves, as my guards have barely moved a finger to protect me! All the guards from the dungeons are to be replaced immediately, and they should be thankful that I did not decide for a more serious punishment!"

"Master, will no action be taken against lord Zoar and his accomplices for this offence?" Jarblack asked.

Galiel stared down at his shoes thoughtfully. "Lord Zoar and Nevis will be taken care of in due time, fear not," he said in a low voice. Only then, he seemed to remember Arthur. He stepped forward, until he towered over the crouched figure of the young man before him.

"Arthur the Red," he almost whispered, toying with the bronze the coin which had appeared in his hand "You have sought to betray me, tempted by deceitful promises made by my enemies, and if I had been a man of rash decisions and impulsiveness your head would have rolled down right then and there."

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling utterly numb and silently begging for all to end as quickly as possible.

"But I have taken time to consider your actions… And realized that without the drive that has stayed your hand and made you stop that man, I would be dead now. I would surely be angering the Gods if I were not to acknowledge that you have displayed such loyalty towards me, which was above any filthy temptation, a loyalty such that only my Effens have shown. I have thus decided to favor it with proper reward."

The prince almost flinched when the blade of the lycan's halberd was replaced by a silver chain, which felt cold and foreign against his heated skin, and Galiel's hand touched his shoulder.

"Rise, Arthur the Red, Effen of the House of Galiel!" the lord declared.


	8. Dreams and magic monsters

**8\. DREAMS AND MAGIC MONSTERS**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

"How long has he been like this?" Alia asked as they walked towards Arthur's chambers.

"I think that since the night Master passed judgment, for two days…" Merlin replied warily. "I kept asking him what's wrong, but he barely talks to me and he wouldn't tell me. He's very weak."

"I talked to the House physician but he had to run some errands for Master, so maybe I can sort this out without his help," the Effen said. "What did he eat? Or drink, maybe?"

"He's put nothing in his mouth. There's a bottle of Liquor next to his bed so I think he must have drank from it, but nothing else. And now he won't eat anything, I hardly managed to get him to sip a bit of water…"

Alia walked to Arthur's bed and lifted the curtains. Merlin remained standing by her side as she sat on the edge and looked at the prince questioningly. He just seemed sleepy and slowly opened his eyes to return her gaze.

"Arthur? How do you feel? Are you in any sort of pain?" she asked gently.

"Tired… dizzy… a bit weird actually," he whispered. "I keep having this dream…"

Alia raised an eyebrow. "What kind of dream?"

"What?"

"It could be helpful if you told me about the dream you keep having," she explained. "It may contain an indication as to the nature of your illness."

"But I'm not ill, it's just… I keep dreaming of my father… We're in this weird place, it's like a white palace, but it's so empty, there's no one else but us, yet I can hear distant voices, many voices – some screaming, some laughing… All that matters is that we're together again, and… he's saying… he's asking me to stay, to join him. But then I wake up and he's gone…" Arthur said with a sad air, pulling the blanket tightly around his body.

Alia's brow furrowed in concentration and she reached to touch his forehead. There seemed to be nothing wrong with him except for the fact that he was a bit feverish and obviously suffering from a peculiar exhaustion. She picked up the bottle of Liquor from the small table near the bed and carefully smelled its contents, before deciding to take a sip.

"You should try to eat something, and drink plenty of water," she recommended. "Merlin, can we talk outside?"

"Is it bad?" the young warlock asked preoccupied as soon as he closed the door behind him.

Alia sighed. "Merlin… was Arthur in good terms with his father?"

"Yes! Yes of course they were in good terms. Why do you ask?"

"The kind of dream he's described is quite common, that place is known as the House of the Dead. Many people dream of going there and meeting someone they were close to in life, and the dead tell them things… What is unusual about Arthur's dream however is that it returns obsessively and that his father is asking him to join him."

"What does that mean?"

"It basically means that his father wants him to die."

"But that's absurd! Uther would never wish for his son's death!" Merlin exclaimed.

"He shouldn't be having this dream…" Alia muttered glancing thoughtfully at the bottle in her hand. Merlin followed her gaze involuntarily and his long harbored fears returned.

"It's the Liquor, isn't it? I knew he was drinking too much of that…" he said sorrowful. "And I begged him to stop…"

"Not the Liquor in general," Alia replied. "Liquor creates a state of wellness, even euphoria. Arthur is suffering from a destructive hallucination that was most likely inflicted by means of magic. _This_ Liquor tastes a bit strange, I suspect that some magic powder must have been added to it. It's more effective than a regular poison and usually does not raise suspicion – the hallucination is killing him, slowly but surely. He constantly refuses food and because of the dream when he sleeps his body is not really resting. He'll eventually succumb to hunger and exhaustion."

"Oh no! But who could have put the magic powder in his drink? And why?" Merlin asked shocked.

"I'm afraid that either Zoar or Nevis have more servants than we are aware of. I should have imagined that Zoar would not let his refusal to commit the assassination go unpunished…" she concluded gloomily.

"There must be something we can do! We can't let him die!" Merlin said anxious.

"Stay with him, Merlin. I'll go talk to Master and maybe the physician will be back by tonight."

* * *

 

Merlin was quite exhausted himself from the long hours spent watching Arthur, when Alia returned with Whiteflower, the House physician and the ogre Orlog. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slowly reached to press a moist cloth on the prince's forehead, with a tired gesture.

"Father… hold me…" Arthur murmured with his eyes closed, unconsciously curling up against Merlin.

"He's getting worse, I think. Hasn't woken up at all in the last hours" the young warlock told Alia. "Did you speak to Master?"

"Yes. He's ordered Jarblack to conduct an investigation, we must find the culprit or none of us will be safe"

"What about Arthur?"

"Well, what he always says: 'do something', without any specification. Orlog is to remain here and to make sure no one enters his chambers but us and the physician. We can trust no one else."

Vergas, the old House physician, proceeded to examine Arthur in detail, but ended up reaching the same conclusion as Effen Alia. The prince had been administered a magic product which was enhanced by the hallucinogen powers of Liquor, provoking a dreamlike state that was highly destructive.

"An affliction this serious requires a powerful cure," Vergas concluded. "I'm afraid there's nothing that I can do, but the Priestesses of the Temple of Fire can probably provide the necessary treatment" he added gathering his instruments. "Haste must be made though, he won't last much longer, a week at most."

"Then we must go to the Temple of Fire," Alia stated. "Merlin, you will come with me."

"But… I cannot leave him," Merlin pleaded weakly.

"A woman cannot walk into a Temple unaccompanied by a man, another particularly shitty tradition of the Underworld, so you have to come with me. Whiteflower will take care of Arthur, there isn't much to do anyway, and Orlog will guard them both," she replied with a sigh.

Alia and Merlin slipped unnoticed on the City streets, without guards. No one was to know where they were going, as long as Zoar's trusted servant remained unidentified. They were dressed as commoners, but underneath the rough cloth of their dark cloaks they both wore mail shirts and swords. It was almost midnight when they reached the Temple of Fire, but even in the obscurity, the bright white marble columns of the building stood out among the habitual and monotonous grey of the City. As they walked inside, they were greeted by an old servant who led them into one of the many waiting rooms, informing them that a Priestess would soon come to listen to their matter. There was no other light in the room but a huge fire in one corner and red cloths and tapestries adorned the walls. Everything was so red, blood red, Merlin thought, and there was a strange air about the Temple, he noticed, a sort of undefined presence of evil that made him feel unsettled. His hand nearly went down to the handle of his sword as the Priestess walked in without a sound, almost floating. The fat woman listened thoughtfully to Alia's account of the facts, caressing the multitude of gem necklaces and beads that adorned her chest, before she finally decided to speak.

"The physician was right, the only cure is a powerful magic elixir that would drive the 'poisonous' magic out of his system. Of course, we can prepare it here, but it is rather _expensive_ …" she said.

"How much do you want?" Alia inquired bluntly.

"I'm afraid it's not a matter of money…" the Priestess replied. "We have a little problem here in the Temple and we are in quite desperate need of someone who could solve it"

"What kind of problem?" Merlin asked in turn.

"A demon has found unfortunate shelter in our Temple and he's in the habit of… consuming our worshipers. We are sacred and therefore safe, but the poor people… Anyone can come in, but no one gets out alive. Neither will you, I much fear…" she explained with an air of fake concern.

"So you're saying that we are to be eaten by a demon?" Merlin whispered panicked.

"Not if you kill it, of course. Rid us of him and the elixir will be yours," the Priestess replied cunningly. "Fail and it won't matter, really."

"We shall do our best to see your request satisfied then,"Alia concluded as she stood up to leave.

"Do you really believe that we can fight this demon?" Merlin asked positively frightened as they walked towards the Temple's inner courtyard, where the demon was usually to be found when not hunting for unsuspecting victims.

"I honestly have no idea," Alia replied warily. "And no choice either. There he is…"

The said courtyard was a horrible sight to behold. There were desecrated corpses everywhere, and the scent of blood and death was unbearable. Merlin pressed his hand over his nose and mouth, nearly gagging. The demon, bearing the appearance of a rather corpulent middle aged man, with dark skin and bright red eyes, sat on top of a large pile of bloodied bones and was currently chewing on one.

"Merlin," Alia suddenly said. "I know that Arthur is brave and honorable… my only doubts lie with the fact that he is a prince - the events of my life have taught me not to trust those of royal blood… but if you truly believe that he is worth it, that he is worth _this_ _…"_ she said pointing towards the demon.

"I believe that he's totally worth it!" Merlin replied determined, drawing his sword, and he dashed out into the sinister courtyard.

"I'm full for the day, come back tomorrow…" the demon drawled, without casting as much as a brief glance in his direction.

"My purpose requires haste and I shall see it done now," Merlin stated, stepping forward.

"I know your purpose, Merlin, son of Balinor… You seek to save the life of the one they call the Red. Yet you would not be so eager if you knew the kind of monster he is destined to become. The mercy you now show to him will not be returned as you hope"

Merlin gasped involuntarily, caught by a cold shiver, but Alia came from behind and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"He's lying, Merlin. Demons seek nothing but chaos and destruction, if Arthur was indeed to become a monster, he would be the first interested to save his life and see him fulfill such destiny. And he hasn't moved a finger in this respect," she whispered into his ear.

"Your lies will not save you, demon!" Merlin shouted, pointing his sword forward. "You'll have to do better than that!"

The demon stood up growling, throwing the bone aside, and pulled two long swords from the sheaths which hung on his back. "Come on, then! I will give you both a glorious death before I make you my next meal!" he challenged.

Merlin charged forward trying to strike but the demon diverted his blow with ease and nearly had him tumbling back. Alia came from behind at full speed and the blades crossed. The demon moved swiftly, despite his weight, and she could do nothing but to block his blows, that came pouring. The Effen motioned to Merlin to distract him and the young warlock managed to sneak behind him. Since the demon wore no armor, the blade of his sword made a deep cut into his side and black blood came gushing out. The demon turned unexpectedly with a sinister cry and hit him with full force, and Merlin was literally slammed into the nearest wall. He collapsed on the floor face down, dropping his sword, but Alia took advantage and another cut was made into the demon's arm, causing him to drop one of his swords in turn. The demon turned to her and hit her across the face with his now free hand, his long claws leaving deep marks on her cheek and forehead. She stumbled backwards, wiping the blood off her face, while he advanced. Merlin managed to lift himself up and crawl forward just enough to grab his sword and to throw it in the demon's direction. The blade hit the back of his knee. His leg gave out and he fell forward, catching himself on his hands. Alia seized the opportunity and brought her sword down on his neck, nearly chopping his head off and pushing him on his back in the same time. The black blood welled out of the wound spurting and drenching them both. Merlin's stomach turned and Alia broke into a coughing fit.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he said taking her arm gently.

* * *

 

Merlin suddenly felt a stinging pain in the left shoulder and nearly dropped the tray he was carrying, but Arthur was quick to take it from his hands.

"Merlin, you should rest. You're not recovered yet," the prince said gently.

"It still bothers me sometimes, but I'm ok, really…" he replied still grimacing, as he busied himself with the plates and the cups scattered on Arthur's table.

"Merlin, I brought you nothing but misfortune…"Arthur whispered sadly, returning to the stack of papers on his desk.

But the young warlock was happy that his prince had fully recovered, he'd have faced a thousand demons for that. As usual, he was happy just to serve him, after all it was his destiny. Yes, he would never cease to believe in that, even if things hadn't gone the way they'd expected.

"Arthur, you've been summoned by Master for tonight," Jarblack said, cracking the door open. "He's been challenged and it's you that has been asked to fight."

"So soon?" Merlin whispered, turning pale.

"And who am I to fight?" Arthur questioned, putting his quill aside.

"Have you heard about Harthgor? King Craven has recently purchased him from a sorcerer. He's a magic monster," Jarblack replied.

"What does that mean? Does he have magic powers?" Merlin asked frightened.

"Yes, he has. He's become very popular with the crowd and thus he fights quite often in the Arena. He is so powerful that he usually fights several warriors in the same time and no one ever survives. He stands undefeated. He's half human half gargoyle, twice the height and weight of an average human and his bark like skin is armor in itself. His claws can pierce an average mail shirt, but King Craven insists that he should fight with swords and other weapons, like a warrior and not like a beast. But it is his magic powers that make him truly the most valuable warrior on the market."

"Sounds impressing…" Arthur observed.

"Not to Master. He found it wise to express the opinion that he's just a stupid beast with a cheap collection of tricks" Jarblack said sighing. "The words have reached the king's ears and challenge was made. The king wants to offer his people and his guests from the outside world the finest entertainment. He's especially requested you to fight."

"Damn it!" Merlin exclaimed in a low voice, dropping on Arthur's bed, after Jarblack left.

"It's going to be alright, Merlin. You need to stop worrying so much about me, or it will be your undoing," Arthur tried to comfort him, even if his hardened features said otherwise.

"How exactly will it be alright, Arthur? Didn't you hear? He's a _magic_ monster, for God's sake!" the warlock jumped exasperated.

"Have some faith in _destiny,_ " the prince replied with a wry smile. "And pour me a cup of Liquor."

* * *

 

When Alia descended in the dungeons it was well past noon and the servants were busy with the preparations for Arthur's match. The prince was doing some warm-up moves with two short battle axes, while his manservant just sat in one corner, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"How's it going, Merlin?" she asked briefly, passing by.

"I've seen better…" came the muttered reply.

"And there's better to come still," she whispered mysteriously with a quick smile. Merlin raised an eyebrow in confusion. She took and small pill out of her pocket and showed it to him demonstratively before putting it in her mouth.

"It's time," a servant announced and they all hurried to put Arthur's armor on, oil it properly, cling his weapons on his belt – two short battle axes and one long sword, and to wrap red strips of cloth on his hands for luck.

"Arthur, I see you're back in shape," Alia addressed him while he sunk his hands in the ceremonial bowl of fresh blood.

"Alia!" Arthur said surprised, turning to her. He usually felt uneasy in her presence, overwhelmed by an uncharacteristic shyness. It only made it worse to notice that the claw marks were still slightly visible on her pale forehead. With that, she'd saved his life twice.

"I'm sorry that I didn't have the opportunity to show my gratitude for all you've done for me…" he almost whispered.

"Fear not, opportunity presents itself now…" Alia replied. "By the way, this should have been my fight, if you hadn't aroused the king's interest. After all, I am the best warrior of our House," she added defiantly.

Arthur blinked in disbelief and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in reply to her remark.

"Therefore, I want you to bear my token in battle."

"Oh- of course. It will be my honor," he quickly muttered in agreement, but saw nothing in her hands. "What is it?"

"My kiss. It will bring you luck," she said smiling and she stood on tiptoes to press her mouth against his. The kiss was literally hot – he couldn't help suspecting that some particularly wicked spice was at work as it burned his mouth like hell and he blinked back his tears. Yet he did not dare to move.

"Fucking kill him, we were drenched in shit because of you" she whispered somewhat amused in his ear and she pulled away.

"Our tears in their blood!" he managed to say half chocking and the servants repeated. The iron bars gate lifted and he stepped in the Arena from the shadow of the dungeons.

"In his majestic generosity, King Craven the Great brings you the fight you've all been wishing for" the Master of Ceremonies announced out loud. "Harthgor, champion of the King, versus Arthur the Red, Effen of the House of Galiel!" The crowd's roar was already deafening in anticipation.

Harthgor had had another fight before and was resting in one corner of the Arena for a few moments, while a pretty slave girl washed the blood from his sword. She threw Arthur a glance full of pity, which he noticed and it made him swear out loud. The Master of Ceremonies blew his horn and the audience roared even louder. At last, Harthgor rose from his seat, pushing the girl down as he picked his sword. He lifted it in the air with a growl which silenced the spectators.

"If you behave, I promise we'll finish fast and without much pain," the monster said in a mocking tone.

Arthur remained silent, his gaze narrowing and his fingers clenching on the sword's handle. Then Harthgor launched his attack. He charged and quickly raised his sword for a full blow, but the prince managed to slip away and he missed. Arthur swiftly sneaked behind him and the blade of his sword made contact with his armor skin. But the blow was not strong enough to push him down, let alone to cut through it, and he merely bent forward. It was but a moment before Harthgor straightened and turned to him, growling. Arthur stepped backwards, both battle axes in hand. The monster charged again, swinging his sword. Arthur managed to throw them both in his direction and one of them cut off his left ear as it flew through the air, before the broad side of his sword hit the prince's shoulder and threw him down on his back. As he was trying to get up, the monster stroke again and crushed the upper part of his breastplate and his left shoulder. The crowd screamed wildly at the sight of blood, while Galiel slammed his fist into his table, swearing. Alia remained motionless next to Merlin, who was about to pass out. Yet the prince managed to roll away from the monster's range and finally collected himself off the ground, sword in hand. Harthgor let out a long growl before quickly turning to face him again. He did not move very fast and as such it was rather difficult for him to follow Arthur, who was now set on getting him tired, let alone to plan a full blow. The fight went on for a while and at one point Arthur's sword stung the monster's thigh. Harthgor realized that this opponent was much stronger than he'd expected, so he backed off and distanced, then pulled out a spell card from his girdle and threw it down. In a blink of an eye, he multiplied and Arthur found himself surrounded by no less than ten Harthgors, each bearing a different weapon. He somehow guessed that only one of them must have been the real one and bringing him down would be end of them all, but it was impossible to tell which the real Harthgor was. But any of them could kill him. They all attacked him in the same time, and even if he rejected them in the first row, he did not manage to escape their circle. Then Arthur made a discovery. He realized that the fake Harthgors made no sound as they moved. Focusing his hearing, he identified the real one and charged with full force, stabbing him just below the ribcage. The monster stumbled backwards, letting out a terrifying growl. But when Arthur was preparing to give him a second blow, one of the fakes from behind hit him in the back, throwing him to the ground. When he was down, another hit him with the boot, rolling him face up. A halberd blow cut his breastplate in two and partially crushed his chest. Arthur's pupils widened as Harthgor lifted the halberd for the final stroke. Desperate, he gathered what was left of his strength and threw the sword, and before Harthgor could realize what was happening, it pierced his throat. His body collapsed heavily on the ground, next to the prince. The audience was silent, still not believing. The great Harthgor had fallen.

Arthur slowly stood up, pressing his chest with a grimace of pain and pulled his sword out of the monster's body, raising it and letting out a savage war growl.

"Glory to the House of Galiel!" he shouted and the crowd roared, screaming his name in adoration. In his seat, King Craven had turned purple with fury. Arthur turned to face him and with an even more savage gesture licked Harthgor's blood off his sword.

"See Merlin? I told you there was nothing to worry about," Arthur said smiling, even if between gasps of pain, as he walked back into the dungeons.

Merlin rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Prat!"

"My lady, your token was properly honored," he then said proudly to Alia, who stood beside Merlin, with her arms crossed.

"I am not 'your lady' and _that_ was disgusting" she observed in a dry tone, but with an obvious hint of amusement.

"Oh really?"

"Yes"

"Tough luck then," Arthur concluded and leaned in for another kiss.


	9. The son revealed

**9\. THE SON REVEALED**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

Despite the stinging pain it caused him, Arthur stretched his arm as much as he could for the bottle of Liquor which Merlin had, probably on purpose, placed just out of his reach. And it was moved even further as he watched it, by Alia's hand.

"Where's Merlin? And what are _you_ doing here?" he questioned in a harsh voice, his eyes flickering angrily.

"My duty - making sure Master's champion is alright. Merlin must rest, he's watched you enough," she replied in a low voice that betrayed no emotion.

"Oh really? Making sure I'm alright? Who knows what further tricks you are up to now! You _used_ _magic_ on me!" he spat, struggling to sit up on the pillows. "You think I don't know what your plan was? That pill was not meant to make me stronger, as Merlin most foolishly believes, but to make me weaker so that the monster could kill me! This is all about _you_ being the best warrior of the House! All for your fucking glory!"

This open, brutal truth exhausted him even as he spoke and the fact that he felt so betrayed and utterly helpless only fueled his anger. Alia sat on the bed and looked him straight in the eye with a stern expression.

"Do you really think I want you dead, _prince_ Arthur Pendragon?"

"It's quite obvious!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "You're not even trying to defend yourself, you don't deny it, you don't even bother to look surprised!"

He fought back with all his strength but inside he was melting under her gaze. How did this woman come to have such power over him? She was a witch, just like Morgana. No, much, much worse than Morgana, he'd never thought of his step sister _that_ _way_ , he'd never… He mentally broke the sentence, refusing to think it all the way through.

"Oh is that so?" she inquired with a raise of eyebrows leaning over him and Arthur felt a cold sharp touch against his throat. "If I want your dead, then how come you still _breathe_? Do you think I fail a lot?" She pushed the blade a bit further and the metal bit his skin.

"You wouldn't dare… Not here," he replied swallowing.

"Why not? It would be so easy, with Zoar's assassin still on the loose – I stepped out a bit, he or she came in, cut your throat in your sleep, end of story."

"The speed with which you think only proves that your mind is set to purpose! And how do I even know that Zoar's assassin is not _you_?" he still didn't give up.

"You don't. Now go back to sleep, physician's orders," she said gently, removing the blade from his neck.

Arthur was about to protest, but she handed him the bottle and suddenly he was too busy gulping down the contents, in an attempt to knock himself out as soon as possible, away from all the pain and humiliation.

"Merlin must be fucking magic himself if he's survived you this long, you're absolutely terrible…" he heard her mutter just before drifting off to a blessed sleep once more.

* * *

 

"Oh God, I'm so, so sorry!" Merlin lamented. "It's all my fault, I just… I know I shouldn't have told Arthur about the pill because I know he has a problem with magic but he was like so annoying again with all his gloating and besides, I thought… His father had banned magic from Camelot and I used to practice magic back then, well back then I _had_ magic - for some reason I don't have it anymore – and anyway I was just hoping that I could convince him to think differently about magic, make him see that it can be used for good, not only for evil, but…" he poured it out in one breath.

Alia stopped mixing the tonic she was preparing and slowly put the spoon down, giving him a fugitive glance.

"Merlin, I can see where you're coming from, but like I've said before, your past fears need not haunt you now. This is not Camelot, and Arthur is no longer your prince, which means the world will not come to an end just because he has decided to make a fuss about I don't know what shit. He may have some qualities, but you don't have to cling to his every word for that," she said gently. "Here, drink this, it will make you feel better"

"I know…" the young warlock whispered taking a short sip from the goblet she offered. "I just feel bad that he yelled at you and made such preposterous accusations."

She sighed. "We have far bigger problems than Arthur throwing a fit right now… It seems that the king has openly declared his adversity towards our House, he had some issues before and Arthur's victory has only made it all worse…" she said shaking her head as she dropped weary on the sofa. "The truth is that Master has always had a fantastic talent of either doing or saying the worst things in the worst moments possible, words such as diplomacy and prudence are completely foreign to him and he's been extremely 'successful' in making a lot of enemies…"

"But if you served him for so long, then he must be worth it somehow. You said that you respect him, for he is many things," Merlin remembered.

"Fully compensated by the things he is not, it turns out," Alia stated dryly.

"Sounds like it's really serious this time…"

"Master has fallen very ill, mainly because of his conflict with the king and I'm afraid that… he's dying."

"But can't we save him? Can't the Priestesses save him with magic?" he tried.

"No Merlin… The magic of the Priestesses only works if it's not one's time to die, but if it is, there's nothing they can do. Of course, at the end of the day, everyone dies and Master is an old man… Anyway, it was only when faced with this perspective that I realized that one way or the other he won't live forever… And as coldhearted and selfish as it may sound, when he dies we're screwed. He has no children and by the law only a child of his can inherit the House, no one else. If a lord dies without an heir, all his material possessions, as well as his wives, servants and slaves will pass to the king," Alia explained gloomily.

"And serving the king is… not an option?" Merlin asked fearful.

"You saw the kind of monsters which are bred for his fun alone. What monsters do you think the sorcerers breed to quench his blood thirst?"

"Oh no! What are we going to do?"

"I don't know…"

* * *

 

Arthur tossed the scroll aside nervous. He'd been well enough to return to his duties, but he still felt somewhat tired and worn, and all the noises of the commotion from the hallway were making it hard for him to concentrate.

"God, Merlin! What on earth is going on out there?" he asked as his manservant walked in.

"Zoar's assassin was discovered…" Merlin began hesitantly. "Anjun, he used to be one of Nevis's personal slaves…"

The prince snapped to attention, suddenly alert. "Did he confess what he's done?"

"No, but he made yet another attempt. Effen Alia was suspecting him and had him watched for quite some time. Tonight she found him in the kitchens, preparing the dinner that I was supposed to bring to you," Merlin said in a low voice.

"And? What does that prove?" Arthur inquired impatient.

"She asked him to taste it, and that's when he pulled out the dagger and wounded her and one of the cooks. He tried to make his escape but the guards eventually ambushed him in the hallway. He's dead."

"But I…" Arthur began, but stopped and chewed his lower lip, not really knowing what to say. He felt confused and slightly guilty. "Maybe I should apologize… I suppose she meant me no harm after all…" he muttered reluctant.

"Make haste then," Merlin said blinking back his tears. "She'll probably be dead soon. The blade was poisoned." he added and stepped out of Arthur's chambers, slamming the door shut.

"The physician has made it clear. She has two days left at most…" Jarblack said sadly. "I suggest we don't tell Master about this. There's no need to bitter what may be his last moments with such news…"

"But can't she take one of those magic pills? They're supposed to make one more resistant or something," Arthur wondered.

"That was from the Priestesses, same as the elixir. There was only one and she gave it to you!" Merlin burst out, resentful. He instantly regretted it when he saw the look on Arthur's face – like he'd been run through the heart.

"Speak no more of the Priestesses, boy. They are foul. The Gods of Fire they serve are the gods of doom!" Jarblack said.

"Effen Jarblack is right Merlin, the demon…" Whiteflower whispered, touching his arm.

"I don't care!" the young warlock shouted pushing her away. "I'm not afraid of them and I won't sit here and watch her die! I will go to the Temple of Fire, tonight!"

"No, Merlin," Arthur stated determined, taking a deep breath. "I will go."

* * *

 

The Priestess's eyes had a reddish glow in the light of the flames. She took her time observing Arthur with a cunning gaze. Of course, she already knew why he was there. Her majestic, goddess like attitude could not conceal a certain air of impatience betrayed by the way her long nailed, curved fingers pulled at the numerous rows of beads around her neck, for he was a much welcomed prey the Gods of Fire had brought in her grasp. Her eyes silently spoke of occult malevolence and dark desire, yet the prince was unmoved in his determination to face whatever she would throw at him.

"The one they call the Red comes to us..." she spoke in a mysterious tone "Seeking our help for rather odd purpose."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me, why are you so willing to help a woman you don't even trust?" the Priestess wanted to know.

"I was mistaken. She's done everything for me and I've repaid it poorly," he confessed.

"And you still are mistaken, Arthur the Red, she's done everything for her Master. The day when she is loyal to you has not come yet… In fact it may never come." She stood from her seat and advanced towards him, almost floating. "And you'd be even less willing to help her if you knew who she really is, whose blood really runs through her veins…"

"Do you doubt my honor?" Arthur asked, almost whispering.

"Not your honor, my prince…" the Priestess drawled teasingly, tracing a fat finger along his jaw line. "But your wisdom. King Ironed has enslaved you, why would you save his daughter's life? Nothing good can come of this…"

Arthur felt a hollowness in his chest as his breath came out, but refused to think of her words. He forced his will to cast away all memory of past torment which Morgana's ally had brought upon him.

"My mind is made up and my time is precious," he replied sternly. "Name your price."

"So be it, you have been warned…" the woman agreed sighing. "My price is your blood," she suddenly hissed. "Give it to me and she will live. Refuse and she'll die."

"Take it then. All of it if you must," Arthur whispered in acceptance.

The Priestess gripped his shoulder with unexpected strength, knocking him off his feet, down onto the hard marble floor and her appearance changed. Her eyes now shone a full bright red and sharp long fangs darted out of her mouth. She forcefully turned his head to the side and Arthur gasped, his whole body tensing as she viciously bit into his neck. It took all his strength to keep him from struggling as his flesh was being torn and she greedily sucked the blood pouring from his wound, moaning in pleasure.

* * *

 

As soon as she woke up, well past noon, Alia was summoned into Galiel's private chambers. Apparently he was miraculously recovered, Whiteflower announced, back on his feet and driven by events of outstanding importance that he urgently needed to communicate to her alone. She entered his room rather wary, still unsure as to what had happened to her merely hours ago, expecting pretty much anything.

"Alia, I called you alone because only a woman's heart can comprehend what I am about to reveal" her Master said warmly and yet impatient.

"Do you… have a new love perhaps, Master?" she ventured, unable to imagine what had caused such a reaction.

"The vision I had only last night has brought me back to life!" Galiel spoke, highly emotional, ignoring her suggestion altogether. "The Gods have finally answered my prayers!"

"What vision would that be?"

"When I was young I had this dream – and I know it was from the Gods – that I would have a son and he would be everything a father could desire and that he would rise to greatness like no other. In my dream he was wearing this beautiful, magnificent armor… I was so impressed with it that I had to have it forged – for him, anxious for the day I would see him wear it for real," the lord replied.

He then went to open a large wardrobe, revealing the said armor. The bronze mail shirt had a golden-reddish glow, while the steel breastplate was adorned with numerous intricate decorations of red enamel. Alia couldn't help but stare at it in wonder.

"It's breathtaking," she whispered.

"But then many years passed and much to my grief, despite my prayers, I was not blessed with the promised son," Galiel continued. "It has been painful beyond words and has eaten at me for so long… But now the truth was revealed to me, my eyes have been opened!"

Alia turned her attention away from the armor and glanced at him rather suspiciously and a bit frightened, but the old lord's enthusiasm did not diminish in the least.

"It was finally showed to me that my son was never meant to be born of my blood. After all, it is clear that none of my treacherous wives would have been worthy to be his mother. No! He was to be brought to me just on the brink of my fading… And here he is!"

"It's Arthur the Red! I have decided to adopt him," he finally exclaimed, answering her unspoken question. "Well, come on, say something! What do you think?"

"Of course…" she struggled for something inspired to say. "Of course you can adopt him. I think he is most worthy to be called your son and… and I believe you have a lot of things in common as well."

"Is that so? I never thought about it, tell me!" Galiel said interested.

Alia would have preferred not to mention what she thought that Arthur and her Master had in common, but she proceeded to indulge him with what she knew he wanted to hear. 

"Oh this is all so wonderful and I knew you'd understand and support me! It's a wonderful day for me. But it would be truly a blessed day if you convinced him to accept!"

* * *

 

"Merlin, remember when I told you that the world will not come to an end just because Arthur has decided to make a fuss about I don't know what shit? In the light of recent developments you can forget about it. In fact make sure that-" she began cracking the door open to Arthur's chambers, but Merlin wasn't there as expected, instead she saw the prince lying motionless in his bed, despite the late hour. To her relief, there was no indication that he might have heard anything. She approached careful, glancing down at his sleeping form. He was very pale, his breath almost inconspicuous and a piece of red silk bearing the marks of the Temple of Fire was wrapped tightly around his neck. She frowned.

"Arthur?" she called softly, as her hand involuntarily moved to cup the side of his face.

His eyes opened slowly, and she made a move to withdraw her hand, but he firmly kept it in place with his own.

"What have you done?" she questioned, preoccupied. "You look like hell."

"Your eyes are black. So black… they're not like his… They don't burn," he whispered.

"What? What have the Priestesses done to you? Why the hell did you go there in the first place?"

"Anjun… he wounded you with a poisoned dagger… You were dying… I had to… I… I'm sorry…"

"I don't remember anything from the last hours, just… But I am grateful. Thank you," she said smiling.

Arthur managed to sit up on the pillows and made her sit down beside him. "I'm very sorry for all the mean things I've said. You've done so much for me and I behaved appallingly. Please forgive me," he begged.

"It's forgotten, don't worry about it," Alia replied smiling again. "Actually, I wanted to ask you to do something for me today," she found the opportunity to introduce the news.

"I'll do anything! Just ask and I'll see it done!" he promised.

"Master is in good health again, thanks to this… brilliant idea that came to him in a dream. He's asked me to convince you to accept… To accept it," she said rather nervous. "Master has decided to adopt you. He wants you to be his son."

"What?!" Arthur jumped. "I cannot accept such a thing! I'm not his son! What would people say? And the king! How did this even occur to him? Was this your idea by any chance?"

"Of course it wasn't my idea! How could I possibly dare to make such suggestions to Master?" Alia let out a displeased groan. "Why do you _always_ have to be so difficult? Why can't you just do his will? The law allows him to adopt you. Fuck the king, he hates us anyway!"

Arthur raised his chin in defiance and smirked. "Do you want me to be your Master then?"

She took a deep a breath and smiled widely. "You will get your ass off the bed right now, get dressed, plaster an agreeable smile on your face, go to Master and accept to be his son and whatever other shit he may ask of you, or else something very bad will happen. Do we have a singular mind?"


	10. A king falls

**10\. A KING FALLS**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

Arthur had a problem. Actually, a problem was an understatement, he thought positively frightened. It wasn't until very recently that he'd discovered the full extent of the price he'd had to pay for Alia's life. There were two sides to it, as he'd figured so far, the craving and the 'something else'. The craving was fairly straightforward, he'd discovered only the previous night, when he'd woken up trembling and sweaty, hyperventilating and overwhelmed by a horrible sensation in his body. He'd instinctively crawled out of his bed, trying to ease his breathing. He could have called for Merlin, who was unaware sleeping on a sofa on the other side of the room, but something had kept him silent and he'd soon realized it – all his senses were suddenly acutely attracted to his manservant's curled form. It had taken a battle of will against his instincts which told him otherwise, but he'd managed to slip, fortunately unnoticed, into the kitchens, where it had all ultimately proven, however strange and unsettling, a matter of food. Once that solved, everything had been just fine again, as if it had never happened. The following day had brought about the 'something else,' which was far more difficult to define. In fact, the prince was not sure if what he referred to as 'something else' in his musings wasn't in fact _someone_ _else_. He preferred to think it wasn't – the idea of a different, well, person taking hold of his body and possibly even mind wasn't something he could come to terms easily. He'd stepped out of his chambers, on his way to see the lord Galiel, when he'd seen her. Alia stood by a window, in the corridor, observing something in the palace's inner courtyard. There she was, the sorcerer's daughter, having a rather innocent appearance in the simple black gown and her hair simply swept to one side, over her shoulder, leaving her pale neck exposed to sight. He'd meant to say something casual to her, like a simple hello, but the 'something else' clearly had other plans. Instead, he had crept behind her – obviously without his will - and had placed his arms around her in a rather possessive hold, and his mouth had taken hers without warning as she'd turned surprised. She had not made any move to reject him, and that only added to the confusion. He'd pulled away sort of embarrassed, and had wanted to say he was sorry but instead something along the lines of 'we will have words later' had come out. Probably Alia was more than accustomed to Galiel's oddities, which weren't exactly few, so that she'd made no reply whatsoever to what had happened, but the idea of being seen as just another weird master whose shifty and peculiar moods were to be tolerated without question annoyed him. Arthur had then spent the rest of the day, dragged by Galiel at the Council of Lords and later at a tedious dinner scared to death that the 'something else' would again take hold of him and make him say or do something he did not want.

Arthur summoned Alia to his chambers as soon as he could escape everyone else, including Merlin – in that Whiteflower proved quite useful. It was probably crazy but if there was anyone he could talk to about the whole mess, it was her. She glanced down at him as he sat crouched on the floor, hugging his knees and looking miserable, with pretty much the same unreadable expression as ever.

"Did you wish to see me, Master?"

He smiled bitterly. "Already you call me so. Why don't you just say my name? It won't kill you."

"I can't. You are the lord's son now and I am your Effen. I am here to serve you," she explained calmly.

"Serve me – and nothing else," Arthur concluded in the same tone. "A diplomatic way of saying we can't be friends, of erecting a wall between us. How can I even speak openly to you if you push me away?"

"I can assure you that I'm doing no such thing. You can tell me anything, Master."

"Because you're so tough that nothing I could say can possibly frighten you?" the prince asked with a clear hint of irony. "Well this might just be it."

"Is there something wrong?"

"There's something very wrong… with me," Arthur said hesitantly, avoiding her gaze. "I woke up last night feeling very bad. It was like I was somehow _empty_ and every muscle in my body was revolting against this emptiness. And then I realized that I needed… flesh in my mouth. Flesh and blood." He paused and grimaced, disgusted by the very memory. "I eventually managed to go down to the kitchens and have the craving satisfied, but… the first thing on my mind when I woke up in that state, the first thing I saw – and craved for – was _Merlin_ , who happened to sleep nearby," he muttered aggravated.

"You mean to say that you were about to _eat_ Merlin?" Alia asked bluntly, finally showing some surprise.

He chewed his lower lip nervously, not giving the obvious answer. "Anyway, that's only one side of the problem. The other side is that I… do and or say things I don't want to do but that I can't really control. It's like there's something inside me that has a will of its own and that's so scary because I have no idea when it will happen next."

"And when did this… other thing start to manifest?"

Arthur stole a quick glance in her direction before taking a sudden interest in the pattern of the carpet.

"This morning… Look, I really don't want you to get me wrong, it's not that I, well, am in any way… um… averse to what happened, but all I really wanted was to just say hello… nothing more. Clearly not what has actually happened."

"I see," she said softly. "And I suppose no such thing happened before going to the Temple?"

"No. I thought of it too. She must have done something to me… the Priestess," he mused out loud.

"I think I know what it is - she gave you a part of her when she bit you. So now you're a bit of a…" Alia said in a low and rather uncertain voice. "A bit of a demon."

"Oh just a bit!" the prince jumped. "You're a bit of a demon, says the sorcerer's daughter!"

Alia blinked a couple of times, completely unaware of what he was talking about. "Menumorut is not a sorcerer."

"According to the Priestess he's not your father either!" Arthur snorted. "Its Witch King Ironed."

"Well I thought… it doesn't matter what I thought – apparently I was wrong, still the name is unfamiliar to me. I also fail to see the relevance of who my father is in this problem," she replied in a perfectly neutral tone.

"Witch King Ironed is an evil sorcerer who has associated with my equally evil step sister Morgana to usurp my father and have me enslaved down here for the rest of my days!"

"Oh so it's a very subtle way of saying that everything that has happened to you is in fact _my_ _fault_?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not saying that – I just needed to pour it all out I suppose. However the idea is that you're the daughter of an evil sorcerer so don't call _me_ a demon!"

"Yet apparently you're the one with a craving for human flesh, _Master._ "

"Great so I'm a demon now," Arthur eventually agreed resting his forehead on his knees. "So how do I fix this?"

"I believe that the craving can be kept under control provided that you see it satisfied regularly – so it's quite simple. As for the… part of you that has a will of its own, it cannot be controlled unless you embrace it and love it – only then it will become submissive and will no longer feel alien to you."

The expression of disgust and indignation on the prince's face was hard to describe, as he looked up at her. "I _do_ _not_ want to embrace it and I definitely _will_ _not_ love it!" he snapped angrily. "I cannot live like this!"

Alia knelt in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "You can and you will. I am here for you and you're stronger than you think – don't let _her_ win," she whispered looking him straight in the eyes.

"Merlin cannot know of this," he said quickly, suddenly intimidated by her proximity.

"No. No one can," she agreed shaking her head. Her lips brushed ever so slightly against his before she stood up and walked away.

* * *

 

Merlin of course was intuitive enough to suspect that Arthur was hiding something from him again. He had all reasons to be preoccupied, since the last time he'd had such a feeling the prince was involved in a plot to have Galiel killed, a plot that had almost brought about his own death. It was so obvious - the tension about him as he moved, the way he constantly seemed to avoid his manservant's gaze and the badly concealed tendency to seek solitude, in which he could brood over whatever unfortunate thing was eating at him unquestioned, the young warlock pondered as he busied himself trying to clear the incredible mess that was in Arthur's chambers. The prince walked in, giving him an assessing glance as he passed by, and went to sit on his bed, fumbling nervously with the scroll in his hand.

"I know it's something, so you could just as well say it," Merlin suggested, still trying to sound casual.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I've been thinking Merlin… Now that I'm the lord's son you could… I mean to say that I suppose he could do me this favor if I asked him – give you your freedom. You would no longer be a slave and maybe I could even obtain permission for you to leave Underworld… You could take Whiteflower with you and…"

"Wha- Whiteflower?" Merlin asked surprised, blushing visibly.

"Yes _Merlin_ , I know how you two feel about each other, I was not born yesterday. So like I said, you could go with her, to Ealdor maybe, and you could have a happy life away from all this. Even to Camelot, provided that you keep a low profile and you don't try anything particularly stupid…"

But Merlin did not seem happy with his idea; quite on the contrary, he looked positively heartbroken.

"Do you want to send me away?" he whispered, tears stinging his eyes.

Arthur briefly wondered what Merlin's reaction would have been if he had known that he'd been about to become his beloved prince's midnight snack. He sighed, feeling helpless and exhausted. "Merlin, ever since we ended up in here, at least ever since we were reunited, I kept trying to fix this. Look, if Morgana conquered Camelot – because _I_ failed to stop her – fine, if she wanted me enslaved in Underworld for the rest of my miserable days – also fine. Let all this shit fall upon me, it's _me_ who's involved, it's _I_ who may deserve this, but not you! This is my problem and above all _my_ doing; I can't bear the thought of _you_ suffering for it! Do you have any idea how this makes me feel – to see you suffer? Because you do suffer, I can see it. Please, just let me do something about it, as little as it may be," he pleaded.

Merlin shook his head. "You know I could never return to Camelot without you – that's not my destiny. And I could never leave you here!"

"But _my_ destiny is here now," Arthur replied softly. "I was given a new family; the lord has embraced me as a son – that in itself is quite extraordinary if you think about it, who else would have done such a thing. I have a duty to him and his House… to our House."

"I understand, Arthur. But I won't leave you. I'll never leave you."

The prince grimaced, defeated. "I was only trying to protect you Merlin. I shall still see that you have your freedom… And if you really want to stay in this shit, fine, knock yourself out."

* * *

 

It was an eventful day at the Arena, as for every full moon, and Craven was as usual surrounded by his wives and his courtiers, entertaining guests from the outside world. Galiel sulked in his seat, occasionally shooting glares towards the king's balcony while Arthur sat somehow shielded by the lord's large chair, as he'd had the unpleasant surprise to recognize king Alined among Craven's guests and had no desire to be spotted in turn.

"I hear that the king was further aggravated by my adoption. He clearly does not favor me," the prince muttered as Alia came to sit nearby.

"You're not the only lord whom he does not favor, but I do agree that the idea of Galiel suddenly having an heir must have come as an unfortunate development to him," she replied with her gaze fixed on the current fight.

"Father is preoccupied that he will set a new challenge. I have to do something about this. I'm thinking that if it happens I could challenge him in reply, have a clean fight – me against a champion of his choosing. This should settle the matter once and for all."

Alia did not seem thrilled about his idea. "You can no longer fight in the Arena, Master, you are a lord now – it is beneath you. Besides, Craven is not a man who can be fought with honor." She paused for a moment before continuing in a much lower voice "And what does the _demon_ think it should be done?"

Arthur turned abruptly and gave her a funny gaze, before pursing his mouth in a displeased grimace. "The demon thinks that the mob and the lords favor the warriors of the Arena to a far greater extent than they do their king and that fact should be exploited. So maybe the idea that Craven is no longer fit to be king and would be better replaced with someone who is popular with the audience should be subtly spread and nurtured, until it grows strong enough to serve the purpose" he whispered.

"The demon's idea in not entirely stupid, and _that_ it's a fact well known. I've heard that it is even whispered in the Council of Lords."

"Well I don't think it's just stupid, it's also absurd!" Arthur muttered angrily. "This is treason! We cannot think to usurp the king!"

Alia said nothing in reply and the audience as well fell silent for a moment, before loud cheers broke out.

"Effen Belgar the Wolf – champion of the king will fight in a demonstration against the magic monster Galazad!" the Master of Ceremonies announced proudly. Belgar the Wolf, a tall, muscular, dark haired man wearing a magnificent armor with the king's golden hydra walked upon the sands, saluting the crowd. The opposing gate opened and a gigantic lizard crawled forward, letting out a terrifying roar. The king's Effen drew his sword and swung it confidently as he advanced.

"The king is screwed, even his sorcerers mock him," Galiel pointed out. "Look at Galazad, the 'magic monster'. What exactly is magic about it? It's just a big stupid lizard!"

"Perhaps it is an attempt to conceal the fact that the king is surrounded by weaklings, Master," Alia observed. "Effen Belgar holds the title of 'greatest warrior of the Underworld', it could be a way of proving he is worthy of his title," she added as Belgar drove his sword through the beast's chest in the crowd's mad cheers. The king rose from his seat and smiled benevolently at his champion, while his guests applauded.

"We should wipe that fucking smile off his face," the 'demon' suggested before Arthur could do anything to stop him.

"Excellent idea! We should challenge the king before he challenges us!" Galiel exclaimed enthusiastically and proceeded to ask one of his personal slaves to deliver the message.

Arthur glanced at him in utter horror before he could find his voice. "If this is your wish I will fight Belgar, father."

"Nonsense, you no longer belong down there in the Arena," the old lord replied gently. "Alia can handle the matter just fine, is that no so, Alia?"

"Of course, Master," his Effen replied with a brief nod.

Arthur cursed himself inwardly as he followed Alia into the dungeons. "I don't want you to fight," he said, clumsily running a hand through his hair. "I know you must, but I don't… I really didn't mean to say that, _he_ did it to me again, damn it!"

"Because you keep fighting him," she said swiping her hair up and allowing the lycan to put a light breastplate over her mail shirt. "Accept him, embrace him or it will only get worse."

"How can I embrace him when he's constantly mocking me? Every single time I try to do or say the right thing there he goes interfering and saying that while I do my best to prove myself righteous and noble I only succeed in being stupid _and_ boring," the prince said sorrowful, pouting involuntarily.

Alia burst into laughter, nearly dropping the bowl of fresh blood. She was still laughing as she picked up two swords and gave them a light swing before hanging them to her belt.

"Master has asked you to join him," a servant told Arthur and he turned to leave, stealing one last glance at her as the incantation was recited and she stepped out into the Arena.

The crowd cheered as she held her swords up in the air, with a confident smile. Galiel waved excited, while all the king's guests crowded on the edge of the balcony to get a closer look. Yet Arthur noticed that Craven was slightly tense, his features almost inconspicuously hardened. Belgar took position and the king gave the signal himself. His Effen attacked first, with a spin that failed to take her by surprise, and rejected her first blow with his shield. She used her agility and speed against his force as he moved considerably slower, burdened by a much heavier armor, and managed to deliver a teasing blow at the back of his neck. The Wolf threw his helmet and shield aside swearing as the crowd laughed. He charged forward enraged and hit her with full force, making her drop one of her swords. The weapon flew almost at his feet, but Alia rolled down right under his nose and picked it up, thrusting into his exposed chest. Belgar collapsed on the sand in the audience's wild ovations.

"Alia of the Blade – greatest warrior of the Underworld!" the Master of Ceremonies shouted and the king himself rose from his seat and took off one of his purple velvet gloves, throwing it at her feet, while his guests applauded.

"What is he doing? What does that mean?" Arthur questioned frowning.

"The king is showing her favor," Galiel explained, clapping his hands with the enthusiasm of a child, as their champion graciously picked up the glove.

"I don't want him to show her favor!" the prince shouted in extreme frustration.

The lord shot him a quizzical look that soon turned to understanding. "Alia is a beautiful woman, men will always look at her in wonder, but I doubt that she will ever favor the king or any of those putrid wretches over… you," he eventually said rather amused. Arthur totally felt like slapping himself.

* * *

 

Alia was quite tense as she sat curled up on her sofa and she jolted slightly as Merlin burst into her chambers.

"Merlin? What's wrong?"

"Everything is a complete crap!" he stated exhausted, panting heavily as he'd come running. "Did you have any idea that Arthur was planning to start a war?"

"No, I… I guess I didn't," she said distracted. "Is he back from the Council?"

"Yes, they're back, both he and Master, but the news began to spread like wildfire even before the Council was over. They've planned a rebellion – against the king!"

"I have to see him," Alia stated standing. "I have to talk to him."

"It's too late, things have already been set in motion," Merlin replied bitterly. "And it's the hour when he usually won't see anyone, he gave clear orders not to-"

But she left the room in a hurried pace before the young warlock got the chance to finish his sentence. The door to Arthur's chambers was locked, she observed as she tried the handle. She rolled her eyes and used one of her hairpins to pick it, then pushed it forcefully with her shoulder.

"WHAT THE HELL, Merlin?" a coarse voice shouted from the inside. "What part of I don't want to be disturbed did you not understand?"

The Effen carefully closed the door behind her and she advanced to discover Arthur hiding behind his dressing screen, clutching possessively to a bowl of fresh raw meat he'd been feasting on. He wiped the blood off his mouth with a napkin and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her.

"God, I thought it was Merlin. I suppose you're here about the news. You should know that it was your victory that set things going, when we arrived the Council was already buzzing with words of my father's act of defiance" He paused to shove another piece of meat in his mouth. "Yet it was lord Hamza who spoke first. It turned out that the king has exceeded his attributions on numerous occasions, abusively appropriated lords' possessions and what not. In truth the rebellion was long overdue. My father has an army of mercenaries somewhere over the Black Sea and the lords who support the rebellion will also summon their armies. In a fortnight we'll all gather on the Barren Fields of Devdaes to confront the king's army and those of the lords who still support him. I was chosen to lead the joint armies."

"Master, we need to talk about my father," she whispered and Arthur realized he'd never seen her so vulnerable and frightened.

He stood up, setting the bowl aside, his mood visibly softened. "Forget what I said about your father, I never mean to arouse any unfortunate concern… You have nothing to do with anything that he's done, you are nothing like him."

"I know and I want to have nothing to do with him either but what does he want?"

The prince shrugged. "I only know what he _wanted_ – a kingdom for his son. That's why he helped my sister get her hands on Camelot."

"He has a son?"

"Yes, prince Annhar of Greytower. He is now married to my sister Morgana and is her Prince Consort."

"Then what does he want from me? He wants something!"

"What do you mean?"

"He was here, Master. I've seen him – in my mirror. I had never seen him before, yet I knew who he was in the blink of an eye!" Alia confessed nervous.

" _Arthur_ " the prince said firmly, cupping her cheek with one hand and rubbing it gently with his thumb. "Tell me what he said to you."

"He only said 'The game is on' and then he disappeared. What game? What did he mean? Why does he take so sudden an interest in me? What does the demon say? He must know. Please, Arthur," she begged.

He grinned. "The demon says that my heart beats for Underworld's greatest warrior as much as hers beats for me, and that together we shall stand undefeated. Whatever game your father or anyone else wants to play, we shall win it. All I ask is that you have faith in me," Saying that he pulled her into his arms and passionately pressed his lips against hers.


	11. A prince rises

**11\. A PRINCE RISES**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

The Barren Fields of Devdaes surely deserved their name, Arthur thought glancing across the grey plane unfolding before his eyes. There was nothing but dust and rocks as far as the eye could see. A gale of biting cold wind ruffled his hair as he fixed his gaze upon the tents of the king's army, adorned with the black banners with Craven's golden hydra, looming somewhere in the distance, countless and terrible to behold. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of smoke carried by the wind. There was a general vibe of unrest about the overall seemingly motionless landscape that he was now able to perceive and it made him feel unsettled. Galiel was excited by the upcoming battle and so were the other lords, but Arthur wondered if he hadn't gotten somewhat carried away with all this. Uther had told him that he'd been his age when he'd conquered Camelot, but Arthur secretly feared that he was no more than a pale shadow of what his father had been, and Underworld was not a relatively small kingdom like Camelot. Underworld was a vast realm of hidden terror and its king far more powerful than any king of the outside world. But Uther had been just a man, a common mortal, while Arthur was a half-demon. He'd embraced the demonic side that had been given to him and the demonic side was ever confident in victory. In truth, Arthur feared his own weakness, that he was unable to lead the rebellion to defeat the king. Sighing, he walked back inside the tent where the rebel lords and their Effens were gathered around a table, making the last preparations for the battle.

"Naming Orlog as your Effen was a good decision," Galiel said and Arthur nodded, doing his best to conceal his torment.

"I thought him fit too, yet some might argue that he's just an ogre…"

"Ogres are skilled warriors and loyal, not to mention very strong. Anyway, you needed at least two Effens to go with your army and there was no time to waste since we strike tomorrow at first light," the lord pointed.

"Do we know who will lead the king's army?" Arthur addressed the other lords at the table.

"Lord Eleazad seconded by Effen Olown Whitehair, Olverd's brother. Olown has sworn to have revenge for his brother's death and Eleazad is a cunning rascal. You must be careful my lord, they will probably seek you out to kill you," lord Eyal replied.

"Eleazad may be a skilled warrior, but we have a clear advantage over the king's army," lord Hamza commented. "Craven and his lords have many men and fierce beasts within their ranks, but most of them are pedestrians, they barely have any cavalry. Our horsemen will crush them if they strike at full speed."

"In turn we do not have any archers, while they have plenty," Arthur observed.

"Archers can only do so much – that is when they are in the right range. While they're too far and when we'll be too close they're as good as nothing," another lord stated.

The debates lasted for another couple of hours before the final plans were drawn and the lords eventually retired. Only Alia remained, with somewhat of a thoughtful expression.

"How do you feel… about all this?" the prince wanted to know.

"I feel that it's a game. And I cannot but wonder if this is the game my father spoke of," she said staring blankly at the map laid in front of her.

Arthur drew a deep breath before deciding to confess in turn what was eating at him. "Tell me the truth Alia, do you trust my father's vision? Do you really think I'm the son that was promised to him? How do I know it's not just some dream born of Liquor? How do I know this is not even something the demon has planned – an effective means of bringing about chaos and destruction?"

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur, there was no other way. Master has angered the king and when someone angers the king, he will not rest until that someone is dead. Master's entire house would have been wiped out with him. Either the king falls or we die. At least like this we have the support of other houses, otherwise we would have had to face him alone."

"But can we really do this?" he wondered, in no more than a whisper. "Can we confront the king and win?"

" _You_ can and _you_ will, there's no one like you, I know it. Besides, you are _my_ _prince_ , Arthur, I have all the confidence in you," she whispered back teasingly into his ear.

"I thought you didn't like princes…" he muttered, still feeling uneasy.

"I don't – you're the only exception," Alia chuckled and walked away.

* * *

 

At the dawn of the new day there was barely any light on the fields and rain came down heavily, icy cold, turning the grey dust into a thick disgusting mud. The two armies stood facing one another, unfolding as far as the horizon could comprehend. The king had sent one last messenger announcing that the lords who would leave the rebel army and join him were to have his pardon – a sign of weakness and insecurity, Arthur thought. The king was even more afraid than he was, and he could almost smell his enemy's fear. But as if the battle itself hadn't been enough, the prince was further troubled by the fact that his stubborn manservant, who couldn't be any farther from a warrior, had insisted on riding beside him in battle and there had been no way of convincing him to give up. At least Galiel had been made to see some sense and to remain in the safety of his tent, in Jarblack's care.

Arthur rode his black stallion to the front of the rebels' army, accompanied by Merlin and his two Effens, Orlog and Alia, waiting for the signal that apparently the king had to give. In the front of the king's army there stood lord Eleazad, a massive and rather sinister looking man in a full black armor, with a black shield bearing the king's golden hydra next to the green tree of his own house, and an enormous halberd. Beside him Merlin recognized his Effen, Olown Whitehair, who had the same long braided white hair and red eyes as his fallen brother and was no less sinister than his master.

Eventually, a horn was blown somewhere in the distance. Lord Eleazad lifted his halberd in the air shouting something and the king's men were set in motion as the black banners were lifted up even higher into the air.

"Arthur, they're coming," Merlin said, pulling the reins of his horse nervously.

Arthur drew a deep breath, inhaling and catching the scent of his prey while his gaze predatorily fixated on the enemy forces.

"They are coming…" he whispered to himself almost pleased. "Brothers!" he turned and addressed the beastly mercenaries behind him "Today we shall drown our tears _in_ _their_ _blood_!"

The soldiers cheered, raising their weapons and wildly shouting his name. Merlin could not help giving him a rather quizzical glance, surprised by the strange mood that had come over him, but the impression was short lived and Arthur quickly seemed to return to his usual self.

"LANCES FORWARD! HOLD THE LINES AS YOU ADVANCE! HOLD THE LINES!" Arthur shouted back drawing his sword and spurring his horse. "Merlin, stay close to me and do not do anything particularly stupid!" he told his manservant.

The rebel army charged forward and suddenly the already dark sky blackened, filled with the arrows shot by Craven's archers. Many fell under the deadly wave, but the fierce warriors of the rebels pressed forward, crushing the first rows of the king's pedestrians under the hoofs of their wild horses. More shouting and clinging of weapons resounded in the infernal clash, deafening as the two armies collided, unleashing all hell. Merlin's vision was almost blurred as they rode against the harsh wind and the rain. The mail shirt and the iron breastplate weighted heavily on his unaccustomed body and he made efforts to keep his sword up. Yet he felt confident, despite the enormous army that came towards them with the sound of a thunderstorm, because his prince rode at his side, valiant and determined, and behind them an equally large army came pouring. The young warlock was nearly knocked off his horse when they hit the first wave of enemy soldiers, but managed to keep himself up in the saddle. Arthur stroke down several opponents with surprising ease pushing his way ever forward, while Merlin did all he could to defend his back as he followed. It all seemed to happen incredibly fast as they were carried away by the rush of adrenaline. Merlin thought he was beginning to get the hang of it, as he'd successfully delivered several blows of his own, knocking down several men, when a hammer blow to his chest came from nowhere and unhorsed him. He leaned to the side and his foot remained tangled in the stirrup for a moment before he fell face down in the thick mud. He struggled to breathe, pulling at his partially crushed breastplate, but a boot hit him mercilessly in the face, throwing him on his back. Forcing himself to remain conscious, the young warlock saw Olown Whitehair above him, holding his war hammer up, about to deliver a deadly strike. But suddenly the silvery flare of a sword sliced the Effen's throat and the blood splashed Merlin's face, mingled with the rain.

"Merlin!" Arthur called as the monster nearly collapsed on top of the boy.

But the prince had no time to check on him. Lord Eleazad stepped forward and swung his halberd in his direction with an inhuman growl and Arthur ducked just in time to avoid the sharp blade, lifting his shield in defense. Eleazad struck his shield repeatedly, with all his strength, not allowing him even a moment's rest. One of the blows eventually hit Arthur's shoulder, cutting even through his mail shirt and drawing blood. The prince jumped back, dropped his shield and thrust his sword into the ground, as his eyes turned a bright red. Eleazad took a step back in turn, puzzled, as Arthur charged forward, attacking him with his bare hands. He tore the halberd from the surprised lord's hand, tossing it aside and knocked off his helmet with a direct punch. Eleazad did little to defend himself, hypnotized by his opponent's unexpected transformation. More punches followed and lord was barely keeping his balance when Arthur literally tore off the upper part of his breastplate and viciously sunk his teeth into his neck.

"Arthur…" Merlin whispered as he lay in the mud, pressing a trembling hand on his crushed chest.

The weak voice of his manservant was caught by Arthur's fine ear and was enough to make him snap out of his feeding frenzy. He turned abruptly, letting Eleazad's body drop to the ground. In the blink of an eye he rushed to Merlin's side, kneeling down and lifting him in his arms. The young warlock stared in disbelief into the ruby glow of his prince's eyes.

"What the hell Arthur…?" was all he managed to say before losing consciousness.

* * *

 

The battle had lasted for several hours until the king's army had been eventually overwhelmed by the rebels and its remainders forced to surrender. The lords loyal to the king had either been slaughtered or taken prisoners. Craven himself had tried to flee from the battlefield disguised as a servant, but he'd been discovered and lord Hamza had claimed his head. A new Council of Lords had been held immediately after the battle to decide the fate of the kingdom and the lords had unanimously made a decision – the victorious commander, Arthur the Red, heir of the House of Galiel was proclaimed Prince of Underworld. Galiel was of course proud beyond his wildest dreams, but Arthur, instead of finding some of the much desired peace and tranquility, found himself burdened with further unexpected and unwanted responsibility. He was relieved by the victory and by the fact that the king's threat had been removed, yet he could not help cursing himself inwardly for going with the demon's plan, which had blown everything far out of proportion. Being chosen Prince of Underworld was truly the last thing he needed. He waited rather impatiently for the end of the celebrations to go and see how Merlin was.

"How is he?" the prince asked as he walked hurriedly into his tent, somewhat relieved of having escaped all the attention. He leaned to examine his manservant, who lay in his bed with his eyes closed and white as paper.

"He's not woken up at all since he was brought here," Alia replied with a grave expression. "He doesn't have fever but he's barely breathing and kept calling your name. His chest is crushed and most likely bleeding on the inside – the physician said. He might not…"

"Let me see," Arthur asked, sitting on the edge of Merlin's bed and gently placing his palm on the wounded area.

Merlin was lost into an accursed dream he could not escape from. He was back on the battlefield, fighting for his own life, yet Arthur's arms were cradling him protectively, holding him up into thin air effortless, as if he were feather light. But his prince's eyes were red, red as the blood that was covering them both, from head to toe. He'd seen that bright red gaze before, it was quite familiar, but as much as he struggled, he could not remember where.

"Merlin? Can you hear me?" he heard a distant voice whispering as from another world and almost unconsciously forced his eyes open.

Arthur's hand was pressed firmly on his chest, and the prince's gaze was fixed upon it, much to his dismay with a bright red glow. Merlin felt his body almost frozen, except for the portion of skin that was beneath Arthur's palm. He could feel an incredible warmth that was slowly but surely spreading from that point, all over, soothing and healing. It was as if life itself was returning to him. He knew it was magic, the kind of powerful healing magic that Kilgharrah possessed - yet it was coming from Arthur, from the very core of his being. He suddenly remembered the rather mind-shattering sight of his prince biting into Eleazad's flesh and feasting on his blood on the battlefield. The healing magic and _that_ came into such contradiction that got Merlin completely confused.

"Arthur…" he managed to whisper weakly and quite frightened "Do you have magic?"

At the unexpected sound of his voice, the prince broke his concentration and his eyes instantly returned to their natural blue.

"Don't be ridiculous _Merlin_ , of course I don't have magic!" he muttered in a grave tone which only made the lie more obvious. "How can you even think of something that absurd?"

"I saw you, Arthur… And your eyes… I just saw your eyes when-"

The young warlock thought he saw a brief flash of panic in the prince's eyes before his voice came down soothing and gentle.

"Merlin, you were hurt pretty bad. You must have been dreaming. Now you need to rest to recover."

"Why are you lying to me?" the young warlock insisted, as he regained some more of his strength. "You don't have to lie to me, Arthur, not to me…"

"Like you've been lying to me all along?" Arthur suddenly retorted, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. " _You_ have magic, Merlin. I can feel it – it's inside you, twitching and turning, I _know_ it doesn't work anymore, not here, but it has worked just fine in the past, you have used it, in the outside world, and you will use it again someday!"

Merlin froze and his eyes widened in terror. It was so pointless for the prince to find out now. No, not now, not like this. There was no way Arthur could _know_. "H-how can you possibly feel it?" he wondered out loud, without realizing.

The prince pulled away and rose from his seat. He snorted, rolling his eyes in the same time.

"I can feel it because I'm a demon," he muttered hesitantly and obviously embarrassed. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are a _sorcerer_ and you've been concealing this from me for years!" he then added.

"You're a… what?" Merlin whispered hiding his face in his palms, not knowing what to think anymore.

"It's complicated but… well, it happened when I was at the Temple, so now I'm a demon –and it's permanent," Arthur explained reluctant.

"Look, Arthur, I don't want you to think that…" Merlin began "I had magic all along but I only used it to help you, to keep you safe and alive, for nothing else. I swear!"

"When you could have fucked me with your pointy sorcerer hat? Is that what you meant to say?" Arthur replied, indignant.

"A fuck well deserved that would have been, you prat!" Merlin couldn't help it.

Alia burst into laughter, while Arthur pointed a menacing finger in Merlin's direction. "You can't talk to me like that! And it's not funny!"

"Merlin is right - you're a prat," his Effen said.

"I'm your prince!"

"Whatever," she said and left the tent.

"Honestly Merlin, of all the crap you could have ever hit me with, this was by far the biggest!" Arthur eventually said shaking his head and walked after her, before the young warlock got the chance to say 'likewise'.

As he lay in bed, Merlin tried to get a grasp on the new reality, however crazy it was above all to wrap his mind around the idea that now _Arthur_ _had_ _magic,_ aside from the fact that he was a demon and that he preyed on people – Merlin hoped only occasionally. Then he remembered something that Whiteflower had said, about another vision that Effen Alia had had a while ago, about a man she'd called the Red King. And he'd also heard the slaves, the mercenaries and even the lords whispering of the ancient prophecy that had been haunting Underworld since times beyond memory – that a Red King shall rise and his reign will be forged in blood, he will strike down all who oppose him and he shall deny himself nothing, he will be the greatest king Underworld had ever seen and shall bring it glory beyond all imagination. The sudden thought of Arthur becoming that king made his blood curl.


	12. The king's shadow

**12\. THE KING'S SHADOW**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

"I honestly don't think that the Coronation ceremony and the Council held immediately after could have possibly been more tedious," Arthur complained as he struggled to get out of his ceremonial red armor, further hindering the servant that tried to help him.

"At least you looked good in your new armor. It's beautiful and it suits the color of your hair. Not to mention that Galiel said you looked like the God of Fire himself," Alia observed.

He rolled his eyes. "Well Merlin thought I looked like a gigantic strawberry, as opposed to all of the above."

"Oh…" she laughed.

"This really isn't funny! I know what it's like to be Prince, I know it's a crap but being Prince of Underworld is like a complete crap! I basically have the responsibilities of a king, just that I'm not called 'king' because to earn that title I would be required to do something absolutely outstanding – no one mentioned if something outstandingly good or outstandingly bad, though I incline to believe the latter – and not only that I have like a ton of duties, tasks, protocols and just endless shit to put up with, but on top of everything absolutely everyone sees fit to advise me, flatter me and ask things of me!"

"I don't want to sound negative, Master, but what exactly did you expect?" Alia asked. "After all it is a job. As for the lords, as much as they may support your cause, at the end of the day they are all pursuing their own interests."

"Yes I know it's a job – I have been taught nothing but that, I daresay the hard way, since birth!" the prince replied pulling his mail shirt over his head. "In fact, it's more than a job, it's claiming my very life. Guess what lord Hamza suggested in the Council, that in the purpose of further consolidating my position I should consider taking _wives,_ " he stated bluntly.

"Lord Hamza is right, you should consider the matter. Of taking wives, I mean."

Arthur turned surprised and gave her an almost dumbstruck glance. "How can you say that?" he asked almost whispering. "I thought… I though you loved me!"

"But I do love you, Arthur," she said gently.

"Then don't _you_ want to be my wife? How can you advise me to marry another woman? Other _women_?" he questioned, obviously pained by her words.

"I am your Effen – more than anything else I swore to protect you and your best interests. The support you enjoy from the lords is not something to be underestimated. As Prince of Underworld you may be all powerful, but so was Craven until he took a nose dive and lost his head. Politics is a delicate matter to be treated with due care. _Underworld_ is not to be underestimated – the last time I did that I lost Amberath, I will not lose you as well," she pleaded, taking both his hands in hers. "As much as I might want to be your wife, if that is not in your best interest, then I'd rather not be and I'd rather see you married to daughters of lords rather than put you in harm's way."

"But I want to be with you – all that be damned!" he said stubborn.

"Arthur, you can be with me. You may be required to take wives, but nobody says you have to be faithful to them."

"I could never do such a thing!"

Alia inconspicuously rolled her eyes. "Arthur, I know you are noble and virtuous, but this is just one of many matters in which you will have to show… flexibility."

The prince raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind, settling for a displeased grimace.

"Alright," he said eventually "Let's say I take wives. Two or three, it doesn't really matter, does it? Let me tell you how this will be like. My wives will be nice and pretty all the time, they will smile, they will entertain my guests, they will share my table and they will share my bed. And late at night, when everyone sleeps, including me, they will dodge the guards and sneak into the dark dungeons beneath the Arena, where they will pay for pleasure with the wild slave warriors who heat up the sands," he concluded dryly folding his arms.

Alia looked sincerely surprised. He was almost sure that she was pretending, but in any case she was very good at it.

" _I_ wouldn't know," she said innocently.

"I wouldn't know either," he said quickly. "That's what I heard the lords' wives do, that it's true…"

"Well if that's what you heard…"

Arthur's gaze dropped to the floor and he bit his lower lip embarrassed. He stole a quick glance at her before he spoke. "It's true," he confessed reluctant, kicking himself inwardly for bringing up the subject.

Alia stepped closer and gently lifted his chin. "It doesn't matter… And the wives would not do that, not to you."

"How the hell doesn't it matter?" he muttered.

"To me it doesn't. Promise me you'll think about it," she said in a low voice, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

* * *

 

"My prince, I have prepared a list of matters that will require your attention this week," Advisor Varen said, taking a bow and handing Arthur a rather large scroll. The prince shifted uncomfortably in his seat and his eyes widened a bit as the scroll unrolled down to the floor.

"I see," he said and cleared his throat. "It seems that there are… quite a few things on the list, but I will go through them, of course. Thank you, lord Varen."

"Also, sire…" Advisor Varen added rather hesitantly. "There is the matter which lord Hamza has wisely raised in the Council…"

"Oh?" Arthur faked surprise, though he knew what that was about – and to some extent dreaded it.

"The matter of your marriage, sire. I am thinking it fit that the Council should prepare a list of candidates from which you can choose to your heart's desire…"

 _From_ _which_ _you_ _can_ _choose_ _what_ _we_ _already_ _chose_ _for_ _you_ Arthur imagined Uther say and he cringed inwardly at the memory.

"Lord Varen, I have given due thought to the matter since it was spoken of," he stated determined. "The truth is that I have a mind of marrying my Effen, Alia of the Blade."

Varen skillfully masked his still obvious displeasure with a humble smile.

"Sire, I can understand you option perfectly… After all Effens are our most trusted servants, it's only natural that we should develop a certain degree of affection towards them. And Effen Alia is one of the very few women that have ever gained this title, which in itself is truly remarkable… Yet we cannot ignore the fact that being an Effen is ultimately the job of a man and its hardships do require having a man's heart, and a man's freedom… While I am sure that Effen Alia would desire and pursue nothing but your happiness, my prince, I am much afraid that such tedious duty and the inherent… captivity of a marriage would make her utterly miserable…"

Arthur listened numbly and took his time before finding his voice. "Thank you, Advisor Varen. I shall reflect upon your words. Is that all?"

"That would be all, sire."

"Lord Varen, I have prepared a list of my own, with a few people from the outside world I wish to hear news about" the prince remembered, digging in his pocket.

"From Camelot, sire?"

"Yes. Could you see it done as soon as possible?"

"Of course, my prince, as you wish. Our spies will make haste."

The Advisor picked up the said list and retired, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. He pushed the scroll aside on the table and buried his face in his palms. He knew that Alia was right, just as Uther had been right, in a way, but he was already tired of duties, of burdens and of being miserable. And he wasn't sure that his honor would ever allow him to show the kind of flexibility she'd suggested, not when he cared about her so much. He suddenly heard a light footstep approaching and raised his head to see lord Galiel as he came to sit next to him at the long table.

"I'm sorry my son, creeping around is a habit of old people. And I could not help overhearing what Advisor Varen told you."

"Forgive me, father. I know I should have spoken to you first… About that, I… I suppose you also think that the Advisor is right, and I should just go with whatever the Council decides…"

"Oh Arthur, you don't think that," Galiel said gently, pressing his hand over his heir's. "Varen wants nothing more than to shove his two useless daughters down your throat… Look at me, I took the wives that my family suggested and they brought me no advantage whatsoever. More than that, they proved to almost be my undoing. Fuck the lords' daughters, they are a bunch of nobodies, and the lords themselves are not that awfully important. Craven fell because he lost the support of the people, in fact he was never very popular with the crowd. This is what Underworld ultimately is, Arthur, the mob filling the benches of the Arena. You have risen because you have made a name for yourself upon the sands most of all. Alia is one of the most popular Effens, she is a gorgeous woman and a skilled warrior, she has defeated Olverd Whitehair and the king's champion Belgar the Wolf. You two could be quite the 'golden couple' of Underworld."

"Do you honestly think that, father?" Arthur asked suddenly hopeful.

"Indeed I do."

* * *

 

Lord Varen examined thoughtfully the list that Arthur had given him as he was copying it for dispatch in his cabinet. His previous conversation with the prince had irritated him more than he was willing to admit, but then Arthur was young and inexperienced as a ruler and he'd expected that it would be hard to make him see sense in such matters. In turn he'd served for many years, Craven had proven a hard nut to crack as well and yet he'd learned how to get his way with kings no matter how stubborn they were. As he drummed his fingers on the piece of paper in front of him, Varen had an idea.

"Arthur is making such a fuss about me being a sorcerer," Merlin complained to Alia as he walked beside her into the dungeons. Alia had the important task of selecting the warrior slaves that would make it to the prince's lot and she was alone, Jarblack was sick so she'd taken Merlin instead.

"You can always make a fuss about him being a demon in turn," she stated amused.

"I honestly do not dare to open the subject," the young warlock said. "Not after I saw what he did to Eleazad. I don't find it wise to anger a demon that eats people."

"Yet that didn't stop you from calling him a gigantic strawberry," she laughed, making him smile too.

"Effen Alia, Advisor Varen wishes to see you. He's waiting in our section," a servant announced.

"Try to continue with this stupid list, Merlin. I'll go see what the Advisor wants," she said sighing.

"Effen Alia, it's always a pleasure to see you and I trust that you are well," the lord greeted her.

"I am quite fine, thank you, my lord. I have to say that I am a bit surprised that you have troubled yourself to come here when you could have summoned me to your quarters at the palace."

"Oh, but there is no trouble at all," he said. "And I wished to speak to you alone, where no one could hear us. You know how the king's palace is – the windows have eyes and the walls have ears."

"Is something the matter, my lord?" she asked preoccupied.

"It is a rather delicate matter, indeed I don't even know how to approach it," he spoke with a false shyness. "And the fact that I have always appreciated you so much makes it even more difficult…"

"You can speak openly, my lord," Alia stated in a neutral tone, reflexively bracing herself for something unpleasant.

"Well it is the matter of the prince's marriage," he began. "He has been advised to… well… take wives, and it seems that he has a mind of taking you as his second wife. Were you aware of that?"

"Um… no, my lord, actually I… had no idea," she replied. "I had no idea that he's made up his mind who to be married with…"

"I have to say that the prince's choice is most bizarre and quite uninspired, but who am I to make any suggestion, after all he is the Prince…" Varen drawled. "I mean regarding the choice for his first wife."

"And who is that?"

"A woman from the outside world, Effen. Her name is Guinevere and she is a maid, no less… But it seems that the prince has always been in love with her and now his mind is more than ever made up to make her his wife."

"I… don't understand," Alia said unsure. "Master has indeed spoken of her but has also mentioned that she is already married…"

"A problem easily to be dealt with." Varen dug in the large pocket of his robe and produced a piece of paper which he held up with a mysterious air. He tilted his head closer to hers as he spoke. "She is married to a man named Lancelot, and the prince has given clear orders that he is to be taken care of…" he said suggestively. "And when that is done she is to be brought here."

Alia took a deep breath trying to control the chills she felt down her spine.

"My lord, could this be some misunderstanding? I seriously doubt that Master would do such a thing, I understood that Lancelot is his friend, and I do not believe he would cause such suffering to the woman he loves…"

"A short lived suffering that would be, I daresay," Varen insisted. "Think about it, she is a maid and he will make her a princess, and as for his friendship for her husband, well, friendship is fickle when it comes to matters of the heart…"

"I still find it hard to-"Alia said shaking her head in denial.

"I'm afraid there is no misunderstanding, Effen. I have the list written in the prince's own hand, and Lancelot's name is on it, among the names of other people the prince wishes to be rid of."

He put the folded paper in her hand and covered it with his own, squeezing gently.

"I only wished to share this secret with you because I've always cared for you, Alia. I just thought you should know what you're getting yourself into, should you decide to accept the prince's proposal," Varen murmured into her ear and he left her.

* * *

 

Arthur was alone and getting rather exasperated by the multitude of his tasks when a servant announced Alia. He was surprised that she'd come to see him at the king's palace but thought it a welcomed reason for a break nevertheless. As soon as he saw her he instantly knew something was wrong. Beneath her usual calm demeanor he could sense that she was literally falling apart.

"Alia? What is the matter?" he asked warily.

"How could you do this?" she all but whispered, the tremor in her voice obvious. "How the fuck could you do this?"

He raised his eyebrows, taken aback by her tone. "What have I done? I don't know what you speak of."

"You know it too well," she murmured. "You know what hurts me the most? It's not that you love Guinevere and you'd make her your first wife, I really don't mind, it's-"

"WHAT?" he interrupted her. "Alia, Guinevere is married!"

"I know. That's why you have sent assassins to take care of her husband! I cannot come to terms with this idea. It's just too much, it's too much…" she said shaking her head.

"I did WHAT?!" he shouted. "I don't-…How could this even occur to you?"

"Do not deny it… Advisor Varen has given me the list, written in your hand!"

"Alia, this is crazy! Do you even listen to yourself?" Arthur exclaimed taking a step towards her, but she drew back, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

"It's happening, Arthur, just like I've seen it, just like the prophecy says… A king shall rise and his reign will be forged in blood, he will strike down all who oppose him and he shall deny himself nothing! The Red King is coming, you're already turning into him! This man is evil and cruel and he frightens me! I don't care what he does, but I will not be by his side, ever!"

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. He just could not believe this was happening.

"Alia… I loved Guinevere with all my heart, once… and I still think of her with affection. But Lancelot is my friend, they're both my friends and I would never do anything to hurt them. I gave Advisor Varen a list of people I wish to have news of, and they are both on it, but I have never imagined the kind of poisonous use he would put it to… I also told him earlier that I want to marry you and he has shown himself against it."

She said nothing in reply and just stood motionless, with her arms folded and refusing to look at him. The prince suddenly drew his sword and placed the handle in her hand, firmly closing her fingers around it.

"You are Alia of the Blade – Underworld's greatest warrior, you fear no man and certainly not this Red King. If you truly believe that I am him, or that I will become him, then run me through right now and do not let the prophecy come true," he spoke determined, kneeling in front of her.

Clutching the sword with trembling fingers, Alia finally looked down at him and into his eyes. They were blue, the deepest blue she'd ever seen, without even the vaguest hint of red. She let the blade drop on the floor and her fingers tangled in his golden hair, forcing him to look up.

"Swear to me you'll never become him, Arthur. Please…" she begged, kneeling in turn beside him.

"I swear, my love. I will never become him because you will be here with me, you will be the sea of calm to my fire. Please do not abandon me. Be my first and only wife. Say you'll marry me!"

"I will marry you, Arthur."

* * *

 

"All attend!" the Master of Ceremonies announced and all the lords from the Council rose from their seats. "His Royal Highness Prince Arthur Pendragon the Red, Heir of the House of Galiel and Princess Alia of the Blade."

The prince took his place on the throne, gently holding the hand of his princess as she sat beside him. Merlin stood aside with a sheepish smile on his face, completely unaware of the plan Arthur was secretly brewing.

"Lord Varen," the Master of Ceremonies spoke out loud, as the man was brought before the Council. "You are charged with claiming that his Royal Highness the Prince has given orders to assassinate several citizens of the outside kingdom of Camelot. How do you answer to this charge?"

"My lords," the Advisor addressed the Council. "My only desire was for the Prince to avoid an unfortunate choice and to follow the advice of this Council. My intention was never to discredit his Royal Highness in any way, as the matter was discussed by me in private with the Princess."

"Lord Varen, all we have suggested was that the Prince should take a wife, or wives, so as to consolidate his Royal Highness's reputation. We have never made any suggestion as to who the Prince was or wasn't supposed to get married to," lord Eyal spoke firmly. "Even if the accusation you have made was made in private, its gravity remains. Furthermore, you have clearly sought to create conflict within a Lord's House, fact which in itself is unacceptable."

"Sire, name your punishment for lord Varen's offence," lord Hamza spoke in turn, addressing the prince.

Arthur stole a quick glance at Alia before speaking. "I will let the Council decide the most appropriate course of action in this matter."

"Very well, Sire. The Council decides that henceforth lord Varen will be removed from the position of Advisor and banned from the Court," lord Hamza spoke solemnly. As soon as the decision was uttered, the said lord was removed from the Great Hall by the guards.

"My lords, I am glad that this matter was solved in the least unpleasant manner for all of us," Arthur addressed his Council. "I also wish to name a successor for the now vacant Advisor position – a man that has been my loyal servant for many years and who I trust has all the abilities to deal with even the most difficult matters that will require his attention. He is young still and will undoubtedly need your precious guidance, but it is his potential and devotion towards his work that I wish to acknowledge and reward – Merlin, son of Balinor!" he declared, motioning for his servant to step forward.

The lords applauded while Merlin stepped forward and kneeled before his prince with an utterly dumbstruck expression.

"I am honored, my prince…" he managed to say in a choked voice.

"And I am convinced you shall do a great job in your new position," Arthur said benevolently, tossing a pile of scrolls into Merlin's arms. "You shall deal with these by the end of the week," he added with a warm smile.

"Yes, Sire."

 _This_ _is_ _for_ _calling_ _me_ _a_ _gigantic_ _strawberry,_ _you_ _smartass_ _sorcerer_ Merlin heard the demon's voice in his head as Arthur's eyes flickered a red glow for the briefest moment.


	13. Claim of blood

**13\. CLAIM OF BLOOD**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

Merlin was panting heavily and he almost burst into Alia's chambers, his feet tangling in his red ceremonial robe. He nearly collapsed into Whiteflower's arms, dropping the scrolls he was carrying on the floor.

"Merlin, is everything alright?" she asked bewildered.

"Actually no… Has the prince been here? Is Alia here?"

"I haven't been very successful in getting fully dressed yet, Merlin," the princess answered poking her head from behind her dressing screen. "It's quite an important occasion today, guests are arriving from the outside world, several noblemen and a couple of kings. I have no idea what to wear, I'm not used to luxurious gowns and all that crap – the servants have just brought me a huge pile of stuff I don't know what to do with…"

"You could go with the midnight blue dress you wore that night at the tavern, it looked quite dashing. I'm sure all the guests will be at your feet," the young warlock remembered.

"And Arthur at my throat," she replied grimacing.

"Speaking of Arthur, do you have any idea what he's up to?"

"No, we haven't spoken today – he left quite early for a Council meeting or something."

"Yes, he was there briefly, but then he had a talk with one of the lords and left in a hurry, quite preoccupied. He told me he was going to the Temple of Fire! I fear he's up to something and it's not good!" Merlin debited in one breath. "I would have gone after him myself but I really must return to the Council. Could you go and see what he's doing? Please, I have a feeling it's important!"

"Merlin's right, you can go and I'll try to find something nice and appropriate for you to wear until you get back, princess," Whiteflower suggested.

Alia shook her head. "Damn it, I _married_ Arthur, not adopted him, I'm not supposed to check on him all the time to make sure he's not doing I don't know what shit… Alright, I'll go see."

Alia had quite a row with the servants of the Temple for coming unaccompanied by a man, as tradition required, but since she was the Princess they eventually had to yield and let her enter. But they still refused to give any information as to where the prince was or what he was doing, leaving her to her own devices. She wandered for a bit, interrupting a couple of private consultations before she managed to find him in a remote hall. Arthur was apparently working something leaning over a table loaded with a multitude of jars, bottles and boxes of all sizes and shapes. She crept behind his back and stood on tiptoe to peek over his shoulder. He turned abruptly with a yelp and nearly dropped the goblet he was currently holding in his hand.

"Alia! What are you doing here, apart from trying to scare the hell out of me?" he questioned.

"I…um… didn't know what to wear today… And Merlin thinks you're up to some suspicious… something. He said you looked troubled this morning and that I should check on you. Of course, I could not refuse _your_ _Advisor_ …" she explained.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I think you should wear something with red and gold, to match my outfit, and I'm preparing a potion that will change my appearance."

She glanced down at the various ingredients on the table, then up at him rather unconvinced. "I don't follow… Why would you want to change your appearance?"

"Because I've checked out the guest list and king Alined is on it. He knows me from my father's court and he would recognize me for sure," the prince explained.

"So? Who cares if he recognizes you?"

"Alined was an enemy of my father and thus of mine and I don't want him to know I'm here. Apart from that, I have no desire for news of my survival and unexpected rise to position to reach Morgana's ears," he muttered.

"Arthur, you're the Prince of Underworld! I don't think you realize yet what that means," Alia said firmly. "Morgana is just a petty witch of the outside world, who gives a fuck about her, there's nothing she can do to you. You have nothing more to fear from her part, my love!"

"I know my love but it would make me feel so much more comfortable this way. You know how they say that ignorance is a blessing? The ignorance of others even more so."

"Alright" she agreed shrugging. "Just try not to turn yourself into a frog or anything disgusting, there's no particular need to exceedingly 'impress' our guests…"

* * *

 

Merlin was losing his patience, not that he'd ever had much of that, anyway. Everything was ready for the great occasion, and now the guests had arrived and had been led to the king's section of the Arena – and left on his head. Much to his terror, he'd recognized king Alined among them, but fortunately the king showed no sign of recognizing him in turn. He forced himself to smile as he exchanged empty pleasantries with the outsiders.

"My lords, you must apologize the His Royal Highness the Prince for his delay, he is sort of newlywed and much in love with his wife…" he said and then wondered if that was something appropriate to say, but the guests chuckled approvingly.

Right then Alia made her entrance in the company of a dark haired middle aged man, with an imposing black beard and an ever more imposing belly. They wore matching outfits, she a rich gown of bright red velvet with stripes of gold and he a jacket and breeches of similar making. The princess looked beyond beautiful and the prince would probably have looked stunning – if he had looked anything like himself. They were chatting and holding hands and the young warlock watched them in complete puzzlement.

"Alia? Who is this man? And where's Arthur – did you not find him? What's that prat up to now?" he inquired in no more than a whisper, catching her arm.

"I'm right here, _Merlin_. And don't think you can talk shit behind my back!"the prince replied in his usual voice, startling him.

"Arthur? Wha-What have you done to yourself?!"

"If you haven't noticed, Alined is here, so use your brain. The lords have already been informed of this so there will be no problem," came the muttered reply.

"But couldn't you make yourself look…I don't know… better, instead of substantially uglier?" Merlin insisted.

"Nonsense, I look majestic," Arthur said impassibly.

"You look pregnant," the young warlock chuckled, earning himself a brief glare before the prince went to greet his guests.

The Master of Ceremonies announced the fights of the day and much to Arthur's displeasure king Alined came to sit right beside his throne.

"I understood that this is not your first visit to Underworld, my lord Alined," the prince said in a benevolent tone "I take it that you enjoy the games?"

"Very much, Sire, indeed the Arena provides an exceptional spectacle that one cannot indulge into in the outside world. So I took this opportunity to visit as part of the diplomatic tour I'm making these days," the king replied, obviously pleased by the attention he was getting from the Prince of Underworld.

"Cultivating alliances is always useful. Will you be doing much travelling?"

"Oh yes Sire. Next I intend to visit Camelot – a rather small and insignificant kingdom that apparently has lost all of its former glory. But I thought it worth a visit regardless."

"How's so?" the prince asked, genuinely interested.

"Well, king Uther Pendragon was a great leader and a great warrior, but he died without any living son and was replaced by his daughter, the now Queen Morgana of Greytower. A woman of exceptional beauty but… unfortunately of little political skills and/or influence, if I may say so. And she seems to be all alone in the business of the throne, her Prince Consort is just a boy without the makings of a ruler…" Alined commented rather maliciously.

"How interesting…" Arthur said concealing his growing bitterness. "Though I take very little interest in the politics of the outside world, I have heard of Queen Morgana of Camelot and of her great beauty…" He leaned towards the king and whispered confidentially "At some point I did have a mind of inviting her here, but I'm afraid that a woman as delicate as her might not favor the games and besides… my wife is fiercely jealous…" Alia poked him in the ribs quite hard at that, secretly chuckling, but his newly acquired layers of fat shielded him well.

"Oh I see, well, Sire, that's not a matter to be taken lightly," Alined pointed a bit amused.

"No. Never. Ah but about Camelot, I had understood that even if the Queen Morgana is quite young and inexperienced, she has the unconditional support of the great Witch King Ironed of Greytower. In fact that is how I heard her name in the first place, in relation to his," the prince pretended to remember casually.

King Alined dismissed the idea with an ironic smile and a wave of his hand. "It's true that the Prince Consort is Witch King Ironed's son and that the king has granted some support to her at some point, but only in the purpose of seeing his son on the throne of Camelot. His troops have long left the kingdom and Camelot's soldiers are a far cry of what they once were. And I've been told that so are the knights that have sworn allegiance to Morgana. It's a shame…"

"Hmm… maybe, but you know how they say," Arthur said good-humored."How the mighty have fallen…"

* * *

 

A black night had fallen over Camelot, like all the other nights in the three years since Queen Morgana's curfew had been imposed. There were almost no lights visible in the city, barely any smoke coming through chimneys, no fires in the squares and all the taverns were closed. Camelot seemed frozen into an accursed sleep and all around, in the dark woods and on the barren hills, the wolves howled freely. Just past the city gates there was an old graveyard and there, among the countless, nameless graves, rested Uther Pendragon, the greatest king that Camelot had ever seen, now abandoned and forgotten.

He chose to walk alone for the last portion of the road, while the spies remained with the horses under the forest's shadow. Wrapped from head to toe in the black cloak, he shivered in the cold winter wind and pulled the hood even lower over his face. Once he reached the gate of the graveyard he cast a couple of wary glances around, but there was no one in sight, there were no guards, no watchful eyes. Dead kings could not rise from their graves to seek neither escape nor vengeance. And the place was outside Camelot, for even in death Uther had been banned from his beloved city, just as he had been for so long. The prince did not even once look up, towards the now hostile walls which threw a looming shadow over him. He walked slowly, forcing his feet to remain steady as he headed towards the tombstone the spies had indicated. King Uther's grave was merely marked by a small grey stone slab on which his name had been carved roughly by a clumsy hand. The wild herbs growing all around had been removed recently – most likely by his own men as they searched - and the prince kneeled and let his palm wander over the smoothness of the stone in a gentle caress. He crouched forward on the ground until his forehead rested against it, crushing his tears under his eyelids.

"Father… I have failed you…" Arthur whispered in a choked voice. "I have proven myself unworthy of you… forgive me. Please forgive me!"

More than his own shame and guilt, the dry silence that answered his plea tore him on the inside, leaving him shaking and broken. In that moment, all his Underworld glory counted for nothing, his rise and his power could mend nothing. He was no more than a helpless, empty shell carried away by the waves of a cruel fate. His father was still lying in that cold grave, silent and unreachable, and there he was, broken to bleeding pieces by his side. The prince raised his head slowly and wiped the cascade of his bitter tears with dirty hands, merely smearing them across his face as they continued to well down, endless, over his trembling fingers.

"Father, I swear to you that every single tear they have torn from your eyes in the darkest despair, and every tear I now shed in my hour of loneliness will be drowned in their blood! Your son Arthur and all the demons of fire swear to you that all our tears will be drowned in their blood!"

He turned flinching as he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Master, it's nearly dawn," one of his men said. "The city gates will open soon and we shall risk discovery, we must go."

* * *

 

Arthur sat on his throne with a gloomy expression, leaning to one side with his fist firmly pressed against his mouth, staring blankly at the map from the table beside him. He did not shift his gaze when the massive door cracked open and the princess slipped inside.

"Did king Alined upset you, my love?" she asked preoccupied.

The prince turned his head slowly, then took her hand and brought it to his lips with a meaningful gaze before answering. "Actually, my love, king Alined has brought very interesting news…"

"About your sister Morgana?"

"I have consulted the Council today and they say that a king of Underworld is forbidden to raise arms against a kingdom of the outside world," he said drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne.

"But there is a very good reason for that-"

"Unless he has a claim of blood over that land," he interrupted firmly, raising his gaze to meet hers. "And I have a claim of blood over Camelot. It was my father's, and now it belongs to me. I am his _legitimate_ heir!" he added watching her intently.

Alia's initial surprise melted into worried sadness. "Arthur, the beasts and demons of Underworld must remain here! They cannot roam and wreak havoc on the outside world! I know that you have a claim of blood, but do you not care about the people of Camelot?"

He scrubbed his hands over his face and cleared his throat with a pained expression. "Last night I went to see my father's grave, where they threw him in disgrace! You have not seen how Camelot looks like – dead and haunted – and you have not seen the spies' reports! You have no idea what the people suffer in Morgana's claws and how frightened they are by her guards! They are no better than the beasts of Underworld!" he said almost choking in tears all over again.

"They might be, but if you attack do you know what she'll tell the people? ' A prince from hell is upon us, fight on my side or die on your own'."

"What's the matter? What is this all about?" Merlin asked as he walked in from his cabinet.

"Prepare the army, Merlin. We march on Camelot in a fortnight," the prince ordered.

"Could I send a message to Gaius?" Merlin asked suddenly excited.

"No _Merlin_ , of course you can't send a message to Gaius!" Arthur replied bluntly. "Gaius is under strict surveillance, it would only put him in harm's way. We cannot announce anyone about this"

Alia shook her head. "My love, this will not go over smoothly…"

Arthur could almost feel that her old fears were beginning to grip her again and he sighed, knowing that to a certain extent she was right to think this way. He only wished that she could have seen into his heart and grasped the whole truth. He stood up and gently cupped her face with one hand, stroking her with his thumb. "My love, we will find a way, I promise."

* * *

 

Merlin stretched his arms and fingers forward, inhaling the cold yet blessedly fresh air of the outside world, letting his long imprisoned magic to course freely through his body once more. It was back, he though with tears of joy stinging his eyes, just as Arthur had said. He whispered a quick spell and a row of small pebbles trickled down the hill, rolling at his feet. He laughed like a child, feeling his heart jump with sheer excitement. After years spent in the darkness of the Underworld, he was finally home, under Camelot's blue sky, and he was himself again. Of course, many things still awaited solving, but for now he was simply happy.

"Quit fooling around, Merlin," Arthur's voice interrupted his musings. "We need to hold Council."

The young warlock wanted to say that his magic was back, but the prince looked like he knew already and did not particularly share his enthusiasm.

"Arthur, I'm so happy that we're back here and that… well, I'm happy that you don't think magic is bad anymore," he said as he strode after him and eventually – mainly because of his robes - stumbled and nearly fell.

"Magic is bad, Merlin," Arthur muttered bluntly, concealing his amusement. "At least for you – it's clearly affecting your walking. Not to mention your brains…"

* * *

 

Sitting upright in her bed, with eyes wide open with terror, Morgana was still shaking as the dream was still vivid in her mind. She'd woken up half expecting to find everything drenched in the blood she'd seen. Beside the blood, there had been the flames again, the awful nightmare she'd had on the night before her wedding had returned, far more powerful and terrifying. The warrior who'd haunted her before was here, so close that she could almost feel the beating of his heart. But he was no man as she'd thought, no enemy of the likes on many, but something of an entirely different making. A fire old as the world itself burned within him, wicked and cruel, beyond her magic understanding. Blood was dripping on his magnificent red armor and on his shining bronze mail shirt as he feasted on the flesh and blood of her men, apparently ignoring her altogether. Just like before, he had not spoken a single word, tormenting her in anticipation, but she knew the truth now – he was a demon and he had come for her soul. He would take her soul and destroy her world. Only once, just before she'd woken up, his eyes had flickered in her direction, glowing bright red.

Suddenly, the alarm bell resounded throughout the palace, strident and ominous. The door to her chambers opened and Sir Leon walked in at a hurried pace.

"Your majesty, I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, but an army has crossed our borders early this morning. It seems they have moved much faster than our own patrols - they've already set camp not far from our walls" the knight said warily.

The Queen jumped to her feet and ran to her window, glancing outside. She let out a terrified scream upon seeing the sea of red banners filling the horizon.


	14. Knights reborn

**14\. KNIGHTS REBORN**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

The prince stood outside his tent, with his arms crossed and unmoved in the cold evening wind, glancing gloomily towards the grey towers of Camelot as the city slowly sunk into the growing darkness. He could feel the poisonous magic brewing within it, it was like the suffocating stench of an unseen but deadly plague. He was honestly worried about how the events would unfold, but would not let anyone see it, especially his lords. He eventually stretched out his hand with his palm up and a small bright flame erupted. He stared into it for a while thoughtfully, before Alia came and put her arms around him from behind.

"It looks so dark and cold, doesn't it?" Arthur asked, motioning in the direction of the city.

"My love, you will be the bright fire that will chase away darkness," she whispered. "I have faith in you."

"What shall we do now, Sire?" one of the counselors asked approaching.

"We will wait for their move," Arthur replied. "Most likely they'll send someone out to talk. I wonder who that will be."

"I worry for Gaius," Merlin murmured as he joined them. "I fear he's not safe in the palace, now more than ever. We must get him out of there!"

"Merlin, I understand your concern but you cannot go after Gaius. It's too dangerous and if you were discovered we would lose the element of surprise," the prince said.

"What element of surprise? We have a huge army, and a powerful sorcerer. I do believe that we have a clear advantage," Alia said.

"I have become aware that Morgana has had some dreams of me lately. Yet it's not me who she has seen, but the demon. In fact, only the demon. She can feel him, just as he feels her, and she fears him…" Arthur explained. "So when the demon will ask her to yield Camelot, she might do it without a fight. It would be the best way, without any bloodshed."

"Morgana may yield in fear, but Morgause will not. She's much more powerful and evil," Merlin said.

"I can go after Gaius," the princess offered. "Nobody in Camelot knows me and no one would suspect a poor woman alone. I can slip in unnoticed."

Merlin glanced at her with sudden hope, but the prince shook his head. "My love, Gaius is my friend too but I cannot allow you to do this – it's too dangerous. I cannot risk-"

"Arthur, when you saw me for the first time, what was I doing?" she questioned defiantly.

"You were fighting…" he admitted rather reluctant.

"Exactly, I wasn't sitting on my ass wearing pink. I can do this. I have all the faith in you, make some tiny effort to reciprocate," she said bluntly.

The prince raised his eyebrows and wanted to say something, but then just pursed his mouth in a grimace and walked away muttering something unintelligible.

* * *

 

Gold opened a large variety of doors, no matter how rusty the hinges, and in this respect Camelot was no different than Underworld or any other kingdom, Alia observed as she slipped into the city and further, into the palace, pretending she was just a poor sick lady in desperate need of a treatment from the renowned court physician. Yet the guards were suspicious of everyone and even if they'd shown favor to the bribe, they still kept watchful eyes and sharp ears and she realized as soon as she entered Gaius' chambers that the guard who had led her there had remained close to the door, listening.

"Are you Gaius, the court physician?" she asked with a preoccupied air, eyeing the old man who was leaning over his small table.

"Yes, my lady, it is me. How can I help you?" he asked gently.

"I have come a long way in search for a cure," she began but quickly broke into a cough. "I am very sick and in need of your help."

"Oh, of course, would you please step closer so I can examine you. Could you explain what the trouble is?"

The princess sat at his table and scribbled quickly on a piece of paper: _We_ _need_ _to_ _discuss_ _an_ _important_ _matter_ _away_ _from_ _the_ _keen_ _ears_ _outside_ _your_ _door_

The physician sat quickly in front of her and leaned forward, nodding, yet with a circumspect air. "I can see that your cough is quite persistent. How long have you had it, my lady?"

"For more than two years now. It troubles me mostly at night and it won't let me sleep." _I_ _bring_ _a_ _message_ _from_ _your_ _ward,_ _Merlin_

Gaius flinched and his face suddenly became sad and frightened. "It might be some sort of allergy, or an affliction of the lungs." _My_ _ward_ _is_ _dead,_ _my_ _lady_

"I fear the latter, Gaius. Sometimes the crises are so bad that I'm afraid I'll choke." _That_ _'_ _s_ _what_ _Queen_ _Morgana_ _made_ _everyone_ _believe._ _He_ _told_ _me_ _that_ _only_ _you_ _would_ _know_ _that_ _he_ _used_ _to_ _call_ _prince_ _Arthur_ _a_ _clotpole_

The old physician's eyes shone with tears of unexpected joy as he began to give a description of a potential disease. _Where_ _is_ _he_ _now?_

"That is very bad, isn't it?" _He_ _'_ _s_ _with_ _the_ _army_ _outside_ _the_ _city_ _walls._ _He_ _wants_ _you_ _to_ _join_ _him_ _and_ _has_ _sent_ _me_ _to_ _get_ _you_ _out_ _of_ _here_

"We must get you some herbs that will ease your suffering, at least for the moment. If you could follow me into the Lower Town, I will get them for you right now," Gaius concluded and stood, casting a large cloak over his shoulders.

They had no trouble getting past the guard at his door, a clear sign that the man had heard every word of their fake conversation. As they walked hurriedly towards the square of the Lower Town, they soon realized they were being followed. There were two men, and despite the haste they made and the many turns they took, the guards caught up with them near the city gates.

"Stop, in the Queen's name!" one of them shouted.

Gaius stuck his back on the wall terrified while the princess muttered a swear along the lines of 'fuck the queen', threw her cloak aside and unsheathed her swords. Both soldiers attacked shouting and the noise attracted a patrolling knight. Alia knocked down the first two men relatively easy, but the knight proved a tougher nut to crack.

"Leon, no!" Gaius cried, recognizing him. Losing his concentration for a brief moment, the knight received a boot in his chest and tumbled on the ground, helpless enough to find Alia's swords at his neck.

"Gaius?" he asked puzzled.

"Sir Leon? Are you one of Arthur's knights?" the princess questioned with a suspicious expression. Sir Leon didn't answer, instead shooting her a bewildered look.

"He is one of Arthur's most loyal knights, my lady. And a friend of Merlin," Gaius intervened, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Let us go, Sir Leon. You'll have to agree that I won't be missed."

They walked past the gates of Camelot, while Leon made no move to stop them. Soon Gaius was at the camp and into Merlin's arms.

* * *

 

Sir Leon was troubled beyond words. He couldn't help thinking that Gaius's mysterious flight from the city might have had something to do with the huge army that awaited just beyond the city walls. But he could not imagine what that could have been, after all Gaius had been a loyal servant of Camelot all his life, he was incapable of such betrayal. Maybe the old physician had doubted Camelot's defenses and had fled in fear for his life. Truth be told, sir Leon himself doubted that they stood any chance against the enormous force displayed before their eyes. While Queen Morgana may have still doubted his loyalty towards her, she did not doubt his loyalty towards Camelot, which was why he had been sent to negotiate peace with their potential attacker. No claim had been made by the foreigners and all they knew was that the army was led by a prince who was called the Red, and who had come from Underworld. To most people of Camelot, Underworld was just a legend and many, the knight among them, did not think it really existed. Yet the beastly soldiers he'd spotted among enemy ranks, monsters he'd only heard of in fairly tales, made him reconsider his beliefs. He also wondered whether Queen Morgana wasn't using this opportunity to get rid of him, by sending him alone to meet the Red Prince.

The moment he rode into the camp and dismounted his horse, two massive lycans got hold of him, taking away his sword and searching him for other weapons. He stared around warily at the large groups of soldiers – monsters and humans alike - and servants who busied themselves around the tents, cooking, cleaning, polishing armors and sharpening weapons, in perfect discipline. And everywhere there were the terrifying blood red flags with a golden dragon and a silver gargoyle holding a bronze shield between them with their claws. The golden dragon looked strangely familiar to Sir Leon, reminding him of the Pendragon crest, but he quickly dismissed the idea. The lycans stubbornly refused to answer any of his questions and led him straight to the Prince's tent. The knight was brutally pushed down to kneel in front of the empty throne, until his forehead almost touched the rich carpet.

Sir Leon did not dare to look up when he heard footsteps and someone stopped in front of him. The lycans stepped back and he flinched when a gentle hand touched his shoulder and heard a familiar voice.

"Rise, Leon."

The knight lifted his gaze shyly and met the smile of his prince he'd thought forever lost. "Sire? Is it really you?" he whispered shocked.

"Yes, Leon, it's me, as unlikely as it may seem," Arthur said gently, helping him stand up.

He then proceeded to give his knight an account of all the events passed during his long absence. Morgana's cruel lies, which had eventually led to king Uther's death, as well as all that the prince had endured from her wish, revolted Leon to no end, but the prince advised him to keep his calm and to proceed with wisdom, for the good of Camelot. Sir Leon eventually left the camp with an easy heart, all his worries replaced with unexpected hope.

* * *

 

He walked into the throne room doing his best to maintain a preoccupied and wary countenance. Sitting upright on her throne, her face a mask that betrayed nothing of her inner torment, Queen Morgana waited for the result of his negotiations. Beside her, young Prince Annhar fretted nervously, while her Head Counselor Morgause kept a stern and cold demeanor.

"Well, Sir Leon?" the Queen spoke in a neutral tone. "What does this Red Prince want from us?"

"I'm afraid, your Majesty, that the Red Prince wants nothing less than the crown of Camelot. He has no other claim and nothing else that we could offer will satisfy him."

Morgana flinched visibly, gripping the arms of her throne, but at her side Morgause was unfazed by the news.

"The crown of Camelot? Just like that?" the sorceress inquired.

The knight nodded, suddenly afraid that he might risk betraying the truth he'd been advised to carefully conceal.

"It's a rather strange claim," she pointed. "Warlords claim land, money, slaves… Does he want to crown himself king and finds Camelot suitable to his ambitions? Perhaps he is interested in the Queen's hand?"

Prince Annhar shot her a glare but she ignored him.

"He has no such interests, my lady, or at least none were such disclosed," Leon replied. "But it is unlikely since the Prince already has a wife. He has just stated that if his claim is satisfied there will be no war and no citizen of Camelot will be harmed, including their Majesties, the Queen and her Prince Consort. They are free to go wherever they shall see fit."

"And if we refuse?"

"Then the Prince shall unleash hell over the entire kingdom and the people of Camelot will be slaughtered to the last man. No one will be spared," he explained gloomily.

"Such incredible arrogance!" Morgause observed, genuinely intrigued. "Who is this man? Tell me more about him, Sir Leon."

"My lady, he does have an army of beasts and he-"

"He is a demon!" Morgana suddenly cried in terror, jumping to her feet and interrupting his account. "He is a demon from hell and he's come to claim our souls!" she shouted hysterically, making everyone in the room freeze in their places. She struggled weakly as Morgause caught her in a firm grip and led her out of the room with soothing words.

"Let it be known that no demon will have Camelot! No demon is powerful enough to defeat us!" the sorceress added before leaving. "The accursed prince will have his answer in two days."

* * *

 

Lancelot and Elyan were busy at the forge, working for the new large order of swords the Queen had placed in the last minute, when Gwaine and Percival decided to drop by for an unexpected visit. They were both surprised, but nevertheless happy to see them. Gwaine had been out of town for quite a long while, wandering as it was his usual habit, in search of the next temporary employment, the next tavern and the next fight. Percival had taken to joining him in his endeavors, and since the curfew has been imposed and most feasts were strictly forbidden, they only made brief visits to Camelot every now and then for the sake of their friends.

"It appears this is quite a really bad time to drop by," Gwaine said, sipping preoccupied from the ale Gwen had brought him. "A huge army is at our doorstep. Maybe you should all consider fleeing the city while there's still time."

"But we cannot leave, this is our home!" Gwen said with a pained expression. "Where would we go? We have nothing else!"

"Rumor has it that the Red Prince has claimed the crown of Camelot and if not satisfied his monstrous soldiers will leave no one in the city alive," Percival pointed. "And there's much fear among the people that the Queen will refuse."

"I think that we should consider leaving after all," Lancelot said. "Even Sir Leon…" he wanted to speak further but fell silent, embarrassed.

"What's with Sir Leon?" Gwaine wanted to know.

"My friends," Elyan began. "We much fear that in the face of such danger and of seeing our beloved city faced with destruction Sir Leon… well… he has lost his mind."

"What? How can that be?"

"He walked in here only yesterday after he'd gone to negotiate with the Red Prince. What he's seen in the enemy camp must have overwhelmed his nerves, because he told us that the Red Prince is… Prince Arthur, and that he has been in Underworld all this time."

"That is indeed insane!" Percival exclaimed. "Prince Arthur has been dead for more than three years now, killed by that ferocious beast. And Underworld is a story for children!"

"And he would never seek to destroy Camelot," Gwen added, visibly shaken by such an idea.

But Gwaine stood up with a sudden gleam in his eyes. "Maybe it's not that insane. I have heard stories of Underworld, the place may exist after all – otherwise where did all these monsters come from? I say we request an audience with the Red Prince and see for ourselves."

"That might just get us all killed," Elyan stated dryly. "That if the Red Prince would receive a bunch of peasants, which I very much doubt."

"We will send our names and if he is indeed Arthur, he will receive us!" Gwaine said enthusiastically.

* * *

 

"Who are these men?" Alia asked peeking from behind a curtain, as the knights were being led into the Prince's tent.

"They are my knights."

"Can they be my knights too?" she asked, giving them an appreciative glance that reached its purpose of stepping onto _someone_ 's nerves.

"No." the prince replied bluntly. "Why would you need knights anyway?"

"They could joust for me in the tournaments," she replied as seriously as she could.

"You can have Merlin for that."

"Very funny, Arthur."

All the knights, apart from Gwaine who for some reason was hard to surprise, were more or less shocked by the reunion. But they were happy beyond what any words could express to find Arthur and Merlin alive and well, even if one was Prince of Underworld and the other his sorcerer. It took them the whole night to tell the knights all about their adventures in the Underworld and to listen to their less happy accounts of Morgana's rule.

"We must and will take Camelot back. Morgana cannot rule anymore," Arthur said determined.

"You are right, Sire, and we are all with you in this, but we fear that she will not yield to your threat," Gwaine pointed. "She has many soldiers, men with special powers enchanted by the witch Morgause. She has great faith in them and thinks she can win. Morgana does not care about the people of Camelot, she does not care how many of them will perish in this war."

"Then we must find a way to keep the people out of this," the prince replied. "I do not fear her, or her magic soldiers, or Morgause. But I do fear that she will play the card of the innocents. We have time to think of something until her answer arrives."

* * *

 

Late at night, Lancelot returned home alone to pick up Gwen and a few things.

"Lancelot? Where are the others?" she asked worried, pulling the woolen shawl tighter around her body.

"It's true, Gwen!" he said happily, grabbing her in his arms and giving her a spin. "Arthur and Merlin are here!"

Her eyes widened and she had trouble finding her words. "What?" she eventually murmured. "What are you talking about?"

"Everything Sir Leon told us was true! Arthur is the Red Prince. He has returned together with Merlin to free Camelot from Morgana's reign of terror. The others have remained at the camp, Gaius is there too. We must leave now, just pack a few things."

Gwen could not hold back her tears anymore. "Oh Lancelot, I really can't believe this is true…" she whispered, pressing her hands to her chest. "They have been alive all this time! All this time the evil witch has lied to us, just to see us crumple in despair! Uther died of pain thinking his son dead! She made us watch his bones burn!"

She hid her face in her palms, crying bitterly. Lancelot put his arms around her and caressed her hair gently. "It's over now, Gwen. Everything will be alright" he soothed.

"No, Lancelot, such cruelty…"she sobbed. "It will not be over until she is gone. She and all her lot."

"You're right. Gwen, before we go to the camp, there's something you should know…" he began uneasy.

"What is it?"

"You should know that Arthur… Arthur is married." Lancelot finally said it, awaiting her reaction somewhat worried.

But Gwen smiled and cupped his face with both hands. "And I am married to you, Lancelot. My heart belongs to you, never doubt my love. " she said and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

"So… how is she? Does he seem happy with her?" she wanted to know.

"Yes, they are very much in love. And she's quite nice – she kicked Leon's ass," Lancelot said amused.

"Interesting."

* * *

 

"A man is here to see you, Mistress," a lycan announced taking a bow. "His name is Tomhen and he says it concerns your father…"

Alia's features hardened and she lifted her chin defiantly, trying her best to suppress the chill she felt down her spine. "Let him in."

The man was quite old and his white hair and beard waved down on his purple robes. He walked slowly, with difficulty, aiding himself with a wooden stick. The leather vest he wore had carried a crest that was now torn.

"I am the Wiseman Tomhen," he said without any introductory politeness. "I have come to tell you something about your father Ironed, Princess Alia of the Blade."

"What does he want, to give some love?" she asked sarcastically.

But the Wiseman seemed unfazed by her comment. "I have served your father for many years, until recently, when he had no need of me anymore. I feel my end near and I thought it right that you and your brother should know what your father's intentions are. He only bred the two of you to see which one will be the strongest, which one will emerge victor from this confrontation."

"You mean to say that _everything_ is part of my father's plan? That he planned all this?" she whispered.

"No. _This_ is the prophecy of the Red King that is bound to come true. Just as you are bound to confront your brother Annhar, as he's cursed you both upon your birth. You alone will decide how this will unfold, your father will not interfere."

With that, the old man left, leaving the princess to brood over her misfortune.


	15. Mark of magic

**15\. MARK OF MAGIC**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

The verdict was clear and there was no more time to waste. Sir Leon was walking at a hurried pace down the palace corridors, he had to leave the city now before his moves would become suspicious. It was time for him to join the rest of the knights in the prince's army. He stopped abruptly in the darkness as a familiar voice called his name, lifting the torch to get a better look. The flicker of light only confirmed his fears – it was prince Annhar - but to his surprise and horror the boy had a bleeding cut on his forehead and a seemingly deeper one ran across his chest. The knight felt a slight pang of pity for him, since the young prince had always favored him, despite the queen's adverse opinion. He had a sad and somewhat lost expression.

"My lord?" the knight asked not really knowing what to think. "What has happened to you?"

"You know what they will do, don't you Leon?" the prince spoke in a low voice, ignoring his question. "It's decided."

"Who will, my lord?" Sir Leon asked warily, inwardly fearing that somehow the prince knew what he was up to. He instantly dreaded that he'd been discovered.

"The queen and the lady Morgause… They will not yield to the Red Prince."

Sir Leon didn't know what to say therefore he just nodded silently. Annhar sighed and stepped closer, the light of the torch now fully revealing his torn appearance. "You know, Leon, I've always had a gift of seeing into people's hearts, and the gift of visions, just like my sister."

The knight involuntarily took a step back, terrified, realizing that prince Annhar most likely _knew_ of his betrayal.

"I know that the Red Prince is true to his word," Annhar continued. "He would not harm anyone if we surrendered… I was a fool, Leon, first a fool and then a weakling. I was a fool because I would not look into my father's heart and into my bride's heart, and even when I eventually did so, I was too scared to do anything…"

"My lord, I do not understand…"

"I know that you hate the queen and you have every reason to. She is a monster that would rather have a kingdom of corpses than no kingdom at all and I told her so."

"Did she do this to you?"

"No, she would not dare, I think. It was the sorceress, Morgause."

"I am truly sorry, my lord…"

The prince pulled the golden chain off his bloodied shirt and over his head, tossing it on the floor. "I cannot be part of this and sadly I have no power to stop it either," he said bitterly. "Take me with you, Leon, I know you're going to my sister. Maybe I can make my life count for something."

* * *

 

"Master, Mistress, Sir Leon has returned with Prince Annhar," one of the lycan guards announced.

Arthur stood from his throne surprised, giving a suspicious glance to his knight as he entered the tent accompanied by the young prince.

"The prince is here on his own accord, Sire," Leon explained. "He wished to surrender to you."

The Red Prince examined him circumspectly, rather struck by his young age and the pitiful state he was in. Sir Leon proceeded to tell him how he'd found the young prince and what had happened to him. But Annhar did not seem to observe Arthur at all, instead he studied the princess with curiosity. Alia had frozen in her seat with a torn expression and the boy knew instantly they could read each other like an open book. He could tell that she was so sorry for him to the point her heart was breaking.

"I am unarmed and mean you no harm, sister," he said shyly. "I just wish I could talk to you alone."

"I think that we should, yes," she agreed and gently led him into another room.

"How's your brother?" Arthur asked curious when she came back after a while. "That was quite… unexpected."

"I've asked Gaius to take a look at his wounds," the princess said weary. She looked like she wanted to cry but she was much too worn and tired even for that. "He thought everything was his fault and that I came after him, like Tomhen said. He was willing to lay down his life to prevent the massacre and to free us both from Ironed's curse." she said.

The prince shook his head. "My love, this is not your brother's fault, none of this. Morgause and Morgana were behind the whole thing. Your brother was just a puppet in their hands, look what they've done to him when he dared speak his mind. I can feel that he is not evil. What I don't really understand is Ironed's curse – why would he want his children to fight each other?"

"Arthur, I'm not so sure we're even his children, more like some creatures he…. I'm a creature born of magic, that's what I am," she concluded upset.

"I was born of magic too, it's the same thing, but that doesn't mean… it doesn't mean there's something wrong with us."

"It's not the same at all, Arthur!" she protested. "Your father used magic because he wanted a son, not because he wished to be entertained."

The princess went to sit down and sighed. "Ironed is immortal and has been living for a long time… He's already seen everything, done everything, probably has everything a man could ever want… and he's bored. He wanted entertainment so he made himself some children, just like the sorcerers of Underworld breed magic monsters for the Arena."

Arthur sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. "It will be alright, you'll see," he soothed.

* * *

 

Morgana could not sleep. For the first time in many years, her magic bracelet which she was now nervously fingering was of no use in this respect. She stared blankly outside her window, beyond the city walls, to the fires of the enemy camp which stubbornly pierced the darkness. It was a cold night and she trembled in her light nightgown, yet she would not move from where she was standing. For quite a while now she'd been aware that _he_ was there, in a dark corner of her chambers, unseen and unheard but dreadfully present, inescapable, his bright red gaze burning into her back. The witch knew not why the demon was tormenting her so, what had stirred and summoned him from his world of fire, but his intentions were beyond doubt for her. Yet Morgause had spoken soothing words of confidence – that he was more frightening than he was powerful and that they would eventually defeat him. She took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that she had nothing to fear from his part. All his threats were vane for he did not want Camelot, Morgause believed, the city and its people held no interest for demons, as they bore other battles into other worlds that were known only to them. But her magic powers were precious, he sought to acquire them for his purposes and as such he would employ whatever devilish tricks he could think of. All that Morgana had to do was to stand her ground, yield not and fight him.

"Why do you lurk silently in the shadows?" she suddenly challenged, out loud, but still facing the window. "Declare yourself and speak!"

At last he took shape and moved, stepping closer with a firm pace until he was right behind her and the witch could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. His proximity was now so much more terrifying.

"Turn and you will know me," he said "Dare to look into my eyes."

Morgana flinched and gasped, but did not move, her gaze fixed on the landscape outside. His voice was so familiar, young but determined, and she was sure she'd heard it before but her memory denied her the answer.

"You don't frighten me, demon! I know why you're here, but you will not get what you seek! I am the Queen of Camelot and High Priestess of the Old religion! You don't stand a chance against me! I will send you back to your hell sooner than you think!" she threatened, but the tremble of her voice betrayed her insecurity.

"Morgana" he whispered with a mixture of irony, tenderness and sheer malice, gently pulling her hair back and bringing his lips close to her ear. "Look at you… Your husband is no more than a mindless boy and you had his heart in the palm of your hand, yet even he has grown disgusted by your ways and has abandoned you. He chose to swear allegiance to me, and so did your best knight. That should tell you something, Queen of Camelot…"

"This is all a lie! You don't want Camelot, it's just an excuse to get to me! "she retorted angrily.

"I want nothing but Camelot, don't flatter yourself thinking anything else. Give up and leave and no one will suffer."

"Even if that were true, you have no right to the throne. I am Uther Pendragon's daughter!" the witch said defiantly.

"Yes but unfortunately _Arthur_ is his first born, legitimate son…" the demon spoke with a clear hint of mockery.

Morgana froze and her heart skipped a beat. The last thing she needed to hear was the name of her accursed brother she'd struggled for so long to get rid of, but he was long gone.

"You're trying to poison me with your lies thinking that you know everything about me!" she snapped "Arthur is in Hell and you don't want this stupid kingdom! You want my soul!"

"Do not be ridiculous, Morgana, you don't have a soul!" he laughed in earnest and she finally woke up, drenched in a cold sweat.

* * *

 

The prince was holding his evening council with his lords and his knights as usual when a courier arrived. Lord Hamza received the scroll and read it hurriedly.

"Sire, my lords, the Queen Morgana has sent her answer," he informed. "Camelot will not surrender."

"Damn it! I knew they would not yield," Merlin lamented, sorrowful. The lords fretted nervously and the knights looked anxious. Arthur swore under his breath and his expression darkened. Deep down in his heart he'd known there was no easy way around this. He briefly wondered whether he and Morgana had not been also somehow cursed to fight each other, just like Ironed's children.

"This leaves us no choice," he finally spoke. "Send a message back that we will attack at dawn. We'll have to stick to our plan. Prepare yourselves!"

His men agreed silently and they all went to see to their tasks, while the old physician and the princess remained behind.

"Sire, I suggest that we also prepare an improvised place where I can treat the wounded," Gaius said. "They will be many, I believe."

The prince agreed with a simple nod and he also stood, preoccupied.

"I will help you," Alia offered and they both left the royal tent.

A stranger wrapped in a dark hooded cloak slipped unnoticed into the camp, past the sleepy guards, sneaking into the shadow of the tents, and dodging the pale light of the fires. Her eyes flickered golden as she uttered a spell meant to help her find what she sought. Magic showed her the way, in the form of a trail visible to her alone. The witch walked at a steady pace, undeterred but glancing around ever cautious. Eventually the magic trail ended in front of one of the largest tents and she used her dagger to make a small cut, peeking inside. There she was, princess Alia, the Red Prince's wife, in rather questionable company, she thought – the traitor prince Annhar - but he was no threat to her plan. The obnoxious Guinevere and another maid were there too busying themselves with some cloths and she could recognize the physician's voice, even if he wasn't in sight. She thought herself in luck as they were all pretty much helpless and her task was going to be simple.

"Gwen!" she called from outside, smiling disdainfully as the unsuspecting young woman stepped out of the tent and walked right into her trap.

Gwen tried to scream as she was brutally grabbed, but the witch covered her mouth with her palm, pressing the blade of her dagger onto her throat.

"Make one more sound and you will die!" she hissed. "Now move inside!"

Shielded by Gwen's body, she stepped inside the tent, into the view of all present.

"If you call the guards, she dies!" the witch threatened firmly, confronting their startled gazes. "Now, princess Alia, you will come with me or I'll cut her throat"

"Who are you?" Alia asked unfazed by her statement.

"It's the sorceress, sister! It's Morgause!" Annhar cried frightened, gripping her arm.

"Sister?" Morgause wondered, suddenly interested.

"I don't think I like the tone of your voice, Morgause," the princess said defiantly, gently pushing her brother's hand away and stepping towards her. "You should let Gwen go, unless, of course, that's the best you can do… Attack children and defenseless women."

"I have no time to waste, you obnoxious brat!" the witch snapped. "Move over here!" she ordered, pushing the blade into Gwen's skin.

Before Morgause could even figure out what was happening, Alia tore the dagger from her hand, pushing Gwen down on the floor and out of the way, and she punched her full in the face. The witch stumbled backwards, losing her balance and nearly fell. Annhar drew his sword and came by his sister's side, an expression of sudden determination upon his features.

"Alia, the curse says that one of Ironed's children must die at the hands of another. He's raised Morgause as a daughter, maybe if-"

But he was interrupted when Morgause's eyes flashed angrily towards him as she wiped the blood off her nose, silencing him. "You are not Ironed's children!" she spat disdainfully "You are nothing but his beasts! You were only bred to amuse him!"

Annhar charged forward shouting with his sword ready, but the witch raised her hand, her eyes flashing gold, and he was instantly thrown back and onto the ground.

" _Silencio_!" the witch ordered, casting a spell and all those present found themselves unable to move their lips anymore. "This could have gone over smoothly, princess, but now because of this delay I'll have to kill all of them before I take you with me!" she hissed, pointing a menacing finger at Gwen and Whiteflower who both pulled closer to Gaius, terrified. She took a step in their direction, but Alia placed herself in her way, dagger in hand, shielding them. Morgause advanced with a vicious expression, unaware that behind her Annhar had managed to pull himself up. She raised her hand, ready to utter a deadly spell, when his sword pierced her from behind. She released the spell nevertheless, her eyes flashing hateful, but the princess held up the dagger and the blade deflected the magic back onto her, striking a deadly blow.

"She's gone…" Gwen said glancing down at Morgause's body, being the first to regain her voice. "The witch is gone… or better said, _one_ _of_ _them._ "

"We are free, sister. The curse was broken," Annhar whispered with tears in his eyes. But he was far from happy and neither was Alia.

"She was right, Annhar – we were bred to kill for his amusement. We've done nothing but his will. We've killed our sister," she said bitterly.

"She was evil, princess!" Gwen pointed out. "She would have killed us all and trust me, she's done a lot of harm already! Many innocents have suffered at her hands! I know it looks bad but it's a good thing she's gone," she added placing a gentle hand on Alia's shoulder.

* * *

 

"Once again it seems I missed all the fun," Arthur said moodily as he walked back into his tent. "In case you didn't know, Morgause was here, trying to kidnap my wife and to kill Gwen, Gaius, Whiteflower, Annhar and who the hell not! We have underestimated our enemies and it nearly cost us everything we hold dear…"

Merlin jumped from his seat, alarmed. "Oh my God, is everything alright?"

"Yes, they took care of her, she's dead. Crazy enough, it turned out that she was Alia and Annhar's sister or something. They do have one weird family… But who am I to complain, Morgana beats any such crap by far," he said sarcastically, dropping onto his chair. "By the way Merlin, outside everybody is running away screaming, do you happen to know why?" he then asked casually, narrowing his gaze ever so slightly.

"I have no idea," the young warlock said shaking his head, looking surprised.

"Well let me give you some clues: he's big, has wings and nearly got my ass fried because of you, Merlin, _son_ _of_ _Balinor_ … Did that help?" the prince asked in the same indifferent tone, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Oh… yes, that… I… think… I might have summoned him earlier…" Merlin explained in the most innocent tone he could manage.

"Then you might want to go talk to him before we burn like mice _again._ "

"Yes, Sire."

Merlin hurried out of the tent, outside where Kilgharrah waited impatiently, obviously not thrilled by all the attention he was getting – soon the soldiers had realized he meant them no harm and had all gathered to stare at him in wonder.

"Did you wish to speak to me, young warlock?" he managed a polite tone, despite his mood.

"Yes, I need your help to protect the people of Camelot. I need a powerful spell that would set a magic mark on all those who are innocent so that they can be recognized and protected by our soldiers," Merlin explained.

"You have found a wise solution, Merlin. It will be as you wish – a mark of magic."


	16. The Red King

**16\. THE RED KING**

_**Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.** _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin** _

The dark night was giving way to a gloomy dawn as the Red Prince's army prepared for battle. Merlin glanced warily towards the grey towers of Camelot, looming above them under a sky filled with dark clouds. The massive wooden gates doubled with iron bars were closed and the Queen's men had also prepared for the siege. He saw soldiers and archers patrolling the ramparts with torches and he knew they must have had some catapults as well on the platforms a bit lower down. But little did Morgana and her knights know that the secrets of Camelot's defenses were already in the hands of the attackers and that they had an undeniable advantage. The secret tunnels from the nearby woods that led into the heart of the city had already been occupied by the prince's troops and they were to move forward as soon as they were given the signal. However, the largest part of the army was just outside the walls, battering rams at the ready, and they were going to strike soon.

Whiteflower stepped out of the tent and put her arms around his neck. "Promise me you'll be careful, Merlin," she pleaded. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you!"

"My love, everything will be alright," the young warlock replied, caressing her hair. "I promise that as soon as it will be over I'll take you to Ealdor to meet my mother. She will love you!"

She smiled, still unable to conceal her worries and he kissed her, and then mounted his horse. He saw Arthur, geared in his ceremonial red armor with bronze mail shirt, talking to Alia and Gaius, who were going to take care of the hospital the physician had improvised in the camp. Alia said something, apparently pleading, and the prince answered with a smile, crossing his fingers behind his back, before he leaned in the saddle to kiss her.

"Arthur…" Merlin began, somewhat hesitating "When we find Morgana, I think you should let me-"

"You need to stay out of this, Merlin," the prince said firmly.

"But Arthur, she's very dangerous!" the warlock insisted. "Her magic is much more powerful than you think!"

"Her magic will not save her this time," the prince replied and his eyes flashed bright red for a brief moment. Saying that, he spurred his horse to where the knights and the lords were gathered, going over the details of their plans one last time before the battle.

* * *

 

On the back of his black stallion, Arthur rode in front of his army, followed by the Advisor Merlin, his five knights and his Effen Orlog the Ogre. He stood up in his stirrups, holding his hand up as he addressed his men.

"My brave soldiers, hear me out! Today we fight in the name of justice to chase away the darkness brought upon the people of Camelot by a cruel and corrupted ruler –Queen Morgana of Greytower! The Court Sorcerer, Advisor Merlin, son of Balinor, has devised a means to protect the innocent people in the fierce battle to come!"

Merlin held up a flag with a glittering golden dragon for all to see, the same way he'd previously instructed the troops already gone to the tunnels some hours earlier.

"You will spare and protect all those bearing the magic mark of the dragon! None of them is to be harmed in the slightest!" the prince shouted "But as for Queen Morgana's soldiers and all those who have sworn allegiance to her, slaughter them all! Show no mercy, take no prisoners!" he added.

The Underworlders cheered, raising their weapons and wildly shouting their prince's name.

"Our tears in their blood!" Arthur then said in a lower voice and the knights repeated determined.

The signal was given and the large army then advanced towards the city walls, in a huge dark wave of spears lit by torches. As soon as they were in range, a shower of arrows came down upon them, but without doing much damage. The arrows kept pouring, until the crossbows of the Underworlders began shooting down Morgana's archers. As they were making efforts to regroup and to put the catapults in function, the enormous battering rams were brought forward and began to pound against the gates. They eventually gave out and the attackers poured into the Lower Town, coming face to face with the Queen's riders and pedestrians, bearing the black banners with Morgana's red tree. They clashed on the barren streets with a deafening noise. The soldiers had obviously been enhanced by means of magic and there were deadly traps everywhere, but they were hardly any match for the mercenaries and monsters of the Underworld. As per the Queen's orders, the commoners had not been allowed to leave the city or to take shelter in the Upper Town, and Morgana's men lurked hidden in their homes. The Red Prince's men ransacked everything and everywhere and hunted them mercilessly, thanks to the magic mark only they could see never confusing them with the innocent citizens. Arthur and his knights pressed forward like a storm, nothing could stand in their way. Merlin had been left in the care of Gwaine and Orlog and he was grateful for that, the memories of the previous battle still fresh in his mind.

They were fighting for a while, drawing closer and closer to the inner gates of the Upper Town as the queen's men were gradually overwhelmed by the Underworlders and taken by surprise by the ones coming from the secret tunnels, when a thick smoke began to choke them, from somewhere above, accompanied by shouts and desperate cries coming from inside. As the gates were eventually broken, the smoke became absolutely suffocating. They advanced through it with difficulty, barely seeing a thing, into what seemed to be an enormous blaze.

"Sire, the queen has ordered her men to set fire to the Upper Town! All the buildings are burning! People say the fire is magical; it spreads much quicker and burns much faster! " one of the lords of the avant-garde shouted to Arthur.

Yet neither the fire not the smoke stopped the Red Prince's army, as they spread all over the Upper Town in a tidal wave, and broke into the royal palace, crushing down the queen's men in their way.

"Merlin!" the prince called.

The young warlock was somewhere behind with his companions but he galloped as fast as he could and shortly was by his side. Arthur and the knights were bloodied and dirty from head to toe, their faces darkened by the smoke.

"Merlin, Morgana has set fire to the whole Upper Town –magic fire," the prince explained. "I think some rain might help! There don't seem to be many of her soldiers left inside, but the people are trapped. Take Orlog, the knights and the rest of our men, get the people out and to safety and finish off the rest of the queen's troops. I'll take a few men myself and I will go after her. I know she's still in the palace."

"I can manage some rain," Merlin nodded quickly, eyeing the dark clouds above them. "But Arthur, please! You can't go in there and confront her alone, it's too dangerous, listen to me! She is desperate and will stop at nothing!" he begged.

Arthur turned to him abruptly with a ferocious expression, eyes glowing a bright red and gritting white sharp teeth. "Merlin, you know that I never listen to you, and if I ever had any patience in this matter, now I just lost it!" he hissed.

Merlin uttered a spell and instantly big droplets began pouring down on them, accompanied by thunders. His gaze helplessly followed the prince as he dismounted and made his way inside the palace with a small group of lycans behind him. The young warlock felt his heart cringe thinking of the danger Arthur was walking into stubbornly, knowing that the prince's main concern was to protect the people, and ultimately him and his knights. He was left with no other choice but to conclude that the demon knew what he was doing after all and he wasn't one to be taken lightly.

* * *

 

The fire had not reached the palace, but the choking smoke coming from the outside persisted, still quite thick, and Morgana had taken refuge into the throne hall. She still needed to find the right opportunity to slip out of the castle but for now she was safe, wrapped in a powerful and protective shield of magic. The demon would not reach her in here, she thought, relieved to hear the hard steps of her _Praetorians_ as they took position in the antechamber. They were undefeatable.

The witch was close, ever closer, Arthur knew as he advanced, stumbling on the dead corpses lying in the hallways, clutching both his sword and his battle axe. His sharpened senses could feel her and he ordered his small group of soldiers to spread out in search of remaining men from the queen's guard. She was exactly where he'd thought he would find her, clinging to her damned throne until the last minute. For a brief moment Arthur was on the verge of loathing himself that he was hunting her like some animal and he was overwhelmed by mixed emotions. He did not know what he would say to her, did not even know if there was any place left for words between him and the woman who'd killed his father and enslaved him. He soon dismissed all such thoughts altogether when he saw what awaited him in the antechamber. He'd felt the evil magic even before Morgana's Praetorians had come into sight. The prince had heard about them from Leon - they were the most effective weapon of terror Morgause had developed to strike fear into the hearts of the people of Camelot. They were enchanted men, grown far beyond their natural stature and strength, blindly obedient and fiercely loyal to their queen. There were seven of them, clad in heavy armors from head to toe and armed with long swords, and he was all alone. But far from being taken aback or frightened by them, he was a bit relieved at the idea, the sight of battle and its gore aftermaths had aroused his hunger and he did not want to prey on his own blood.

Inside, Morgana paced pack and forth nervous, not knowing what to do next. There was a secret passage in the back of the throne hall, leading out somewhere in the obscure back streets of the Lower Town, but she needed to wait until nightfall to have the slightest chance of escaping undiscovered by the enemy. The city had already been taken and at nightfall the wild soldiers of Underworld would have been too busy indulging in their war spoils and celebrating their victory to observe her. The practical thoughts of her escape were the only thing that still kept her going, distracting her from the fact that she'd lost almost everything: Morgause, Camelot and her army. There was only one thing the accursed demon had not set yet its claws upon – her soul. She knew he would be frantically searching for his much desired prize, and that made her attempt to escape quite a difficult task.

The witch suddenly heard sounds of battle outside, clinging of weapons and shouts. She drew back frightened and managed to hide behind a large tapestry, sticking her back on the stone wall, just when the massive oak doors were swung open with a loud cracking sound and she saw the head of one of the Praetorians rolling on the floor, into the hall, leaving a trail of blood. She gasped, holding her breath in the deathly silence that followed. It wasn't long before the object of her worst fears came into view. He walked slowly inside - the embodiment of all her past hellish visions - a battle axe hanging bloodied from his belt and sword in hand, while with the other he was clutching something to his mouth. To her horror she guessed it was a piece of raw meat he'd been feasting on. His eyes were still concealed by the narrow visor of his helmet, but she did not need to see them to know what they looked like.

As much as she was reluctant to leave her cover, Morgana knew it was pointless. He would find her; it was too late to try to elude him – he knew she was there. Her fingers curled around the magic life phial she'd prepared. It was not an escape and her soul would be trapped in it once the deed done in case she was ultimately defeated, but at least there was a chance that he would not get it. The time to confront the beast was now or never, and she stepped forward from behind the tapestry, doing significant efforts to display a defiant and challenging attitude.

The demon had stopped not far from the door, and he glanced casually around the large imposing hall, until his bright red gaze came to rest upon Morgana's fragile figure.

"You have haunted me enough!" she shouted menacing. "Reveal yourself once and for all and speak!"

The prince slowly removed his helmet, tossing it down on the floor, and wiped the blood off his mouth and his face with the back of his hand. The witch gasped loudly at the sight – as impossible as it may have seemed it was _Arthur_ \- his eyes their natural blue, his ruffled hair the usual dirty blonde. She realized that it had been him all along, even in her recent dream – his warm yet powerful voice as he'd spoken to her, his trademark prattish laughter as he'd mocked her. She shook her head quickly, squeezing her eyes shut. This couldn't have been true, her brother was gone, Ironed had taken care of it as promised. This was just the demon deluding himself that she may have had a conscience and remorse to eat at her. Yet when she reopened them he was still there, watching her in silence with a gloomy countenance.

"Give up this lie already, you wretched demon! You're not Arthur! I don't believe you!" she yelled.

"I couldn't care less about what you believe, Morgana," he said in a perfectly indifferent tone that for some reason felt like a slap in the face to her. His eyes had the kind of cold bitterness that only a long and vivid suffering could have brought.

"I hope you are happy with what you have accomplished, _brother,_ " she said sarcastically, making a vague gesture towards the large windows which revealed the image of his beloved city, partially destroyed by her fires.

Arthur's gaze trailed from her to his father's throne in the back of the hall, and then back at her. "Morgana…" he began, this time with a hint of menace in his voice.

"What do you want from me, Arthur?" she interrupted aggressively, before he could continue.

His jaw clenched almost inconspicuously and he fought the sudden urge to tear her to pieces right then and there. "I want you to stop profaning my father's house and my father's kingdom with your filthy and poisonous presence. I want you to get _the_ _fuck_ out of my sight right now!" he spoke in a firm tone, barely restraining himself.

Morgana raised her eyebrows in surprise, mockingly. "Oh really, brother? Do you really think I'll let you have what I can't? After you took _everything_ from me?"

He said nothing more in reply, but the sword was swung impatiently in his hand and that made up her mind. She wasn't sure anymore whether he was indeed a demon or just her brother unfortunately returned, but she was tiring of the game and wanted it done. Morgana raised her hand and quickly uttered a powerful spell, her eyes flashing a bright gold, expecting to see him collapse on the floor, breathless. But to her infinite surprise and anger nothing happened. Arthur still stood there, his head tilted a bit to the side and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly into an ironic smirk. His eyes shone the demonic, nightmarish bright red again. She tried another spell, with the same result.

"Honestly, Morgana, do you think that I've come back from Hell to get my ass kicked by a pathetic witch of the outside world?" he asked, rather amused than disdainful.

By now her anger had melted into plain despair and she drew back. "What are you?" she demanded in a broken voice. "What have you become, Arthur?"

"I've had enough of this conversation. Leave now and don't think of returning. _Ever!_ " he hissed.

"You won't have the throne!" she shrieked in an outburst of fury and drew her own sword, charging on him, all reason gone from her mind. Their blades crossed a few times viciously before her weapon flew away from her hand and Arthur had her backed against the hall, his free hand pinning her throat in a brutal grasp.

"You… will… not… have me… demon!" Morgana whispered choked. Suddenly Arthur gasped, his eyes widening as he felt a warm liquid pouring onto the hand with which he held the sword. He saw her eyes mirroring his expression and looked down to see the blade stuck deep into her torso as she'd impaled herself on it, just like in his vision. He released the handle and took a step back, away from her as she fell on her knees, not looking at him.

"Morgana… what have you done?" he whispered sorrowful in the back of his mind, but his lips refused to move. He felt her soul leaving her body as she collapsed on the cold stone floor and passing into the phial she was still clutching in her hand. The prince kneeled, throwing away his rough leather glove, and gently picked the blue glittering phial from between her pale fingers, cradling it into his palm. Bitter tears rolled down from his eyes, which had once more regained their deep sapphire color, as he carefully placed it inside his breastplate.

And so, in that day of fire and doom, began the reign of Arthur Pendragon the Red, Heir of the House of Galiel, King of Underworld and Camelot, the Red King promised by prophecy.

**THE END**

**At last! Done! Phew…**


End file.
